


so it goes

by smartlove



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Banter, Enemies to Lovers, Exes to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Realism, Tenderness, Villains, bed sharing, depictions of blood gore and violence, homoerotic fight scenes, homoerotic wound cleaning scenes, they all want to kiss each other so bad it makes them look stupid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26562382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartlove/pseuds/smartlove
Summary: “You should understand,” a gloved finger trails down the edge of Mark’s sword, it’s taunting. “You’re no hero, you’re a vigilante at best, sometimes we need to go above the law,”“We’re not the same,” Mark says through gritted teeth, “I don’t kill people,”Mage rolls his eyes, “Grow up,”The story follows our hero Mark Lee, philosophy major by day and sword-wielding superhero by night. He would be nothing without his trusty guy-in-the-chair Jaemin Na, expert hacker by night, Mark's ex-boyfriend by day (but he doesn't like to talk about it).As for Jeno? He's our villain.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Mark Lee, Lee Jeno/Mark Lee/Na Jaemin, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Mark Lee/Na Jaemin
Comments: 43
Kudos: 152





	1. I couldn't get the boy to kill me

**Author's Note:**

> woke up in a cold sweat and had to write villain jeno

The night breeze wraps around Mark like a phantom hug. He pulls the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands, rubbing at where he can feel goosebumps forming. It probably isn’t wise to wear a hoodie over his super-suit but the winter is unforgiving and Mark would run cold at the beach in mid July. 

The salty air greets his skin when he enters the docks. It stretches out greatly, colourful crates lining up along the pier and parked boats rocking along with the unsteady ocean. The only source of light is the moon above him, making it easy for Mark to conceal himself in the shadows, but hard for him to see. Unfortunately, night vision is not one of his skills. He takes a running start and leaps up onto one of the crates. Steadying himself as he almost falls off balance––he isn’t quite used to doing that yet.

The view is better from up here, the sea is endless and ebony, surrounding the ports and trapping Mark in the middle of it all. 

“Adonis,” he whispers into his earpiece, “I need eyes on the boat,”

Adonis—more commonly known as Jaemin Na—makes a startled noise like he’s just woken up from a daydream. He hears the unpleasant sound of knuckles cracking directly in his ears and then typing.

“It’s a yacht, last one to your left,”

“Copy that,” 

He runs along the crate, jumping from one to another as his eyes follow along the row of yachts. 

“By the way,” Jaemin says just as Mark has eyes on the final boat, “I want a new codename, I’m getting bored of Adonis,” 

“This is the fourth time you’ve changed it,”

“What can I say?” Jaemin says, “I’m a man of many names,”

The yacht is alive with jazz music and cheer. There’s a private party going on— some politicians bachelor party or engagement, Mark doesn’t know. He just knows that his target is there, decked out in a three piece suit and drinking out of a wine glass, holding crucial information that Mark needs to get his hands on. 

“One day I’ll slip up and call you by the wrong name,” Mark says as he climbs down from the crate. Slipping back into the shadows to get a closer look at the people inside the boat. 

“Call me by your name and I’ll call you by mine?” Jaemin teases, voice laced with mirth. If Mark closes his eyes he can imagine the smile Jaemin was wearing. One of pure mischief and slight embarrassment at his own greasiness. 

“God awful movie,” Mark grumbles back, “I can’t get eyes on the target,”

“Try getting on the boat?” Jaemin suggests.

“What if someone sees me?”

“Kill them,”

“Adonis,” he warns. 

“Kidding!” Jaemin says, “Just knock them out or something,”

“I’m not trying to make a scene,” Mark says, “Slipping in and out, remember?”

“You’ll be fine,” Jaemin assures him, “I’ll make sure of it.” 

So Mark takes the leap from the pier to the bow of the boat. It rocks slightly under his feet, inky water sloshing dangerously as he did so. Mark gulps, he’s not a fan of the ocean. Yellow lights stream in from one of the windows, giving Mark a better view of the party going on inside. 

He sees his target: Senator James. The man is grinning over a cigar and talking loudly. He slaps his friend on the shoulder as he makes a joke. He’s only one of the many politicians to blame for all the corruption in this city. The most untouchable man in the city, just standing on an expensive yacht while others suffer because of him. The sight of him alone makes Mark feel sick. The Senator wears no armour, no protection other than security guards that Mark can handle with his eyes closed. It would be so easy just to—

But that isn’t the job. 

“I have eyes on the target,”

Jaemin makes a distressed noise, “We have a problem,”

Mark feels it before Jaemin can tell him, the hairs on the edge of his neck standing up and every nerve in his body is going off like a fire alarm. He’s not alone. 

He reaches for one of the dual swords sheathed across this back. The intruder steps forward, Mark turns around at a lightning speed. Bringing his sword up and pressing the blade to their neck without a second thought. 

“Kindly remove your blade from my throat,” the intruder says, like he’s slightly inconvenienced, “I don’t like the glare.” 

Mark recognises the voice instantly. Dulled down by a voice modulator but still undoubtedly wicked. 

“Mage,” he grits out, pressing the knife tighter to the other’s skin. The blade glimmers under the moonlight, the pale skin beneath it tightens. Just a little more pressure and Mark could draw blood. 

A cheshire cat grin rips across Mage’s face. He’s dressed up in his usual gear, a black mask covering his eyes, decorated with lace like he just came from a masquerade ball. Leather pants, white gloves and a long coat that reached the floor. As if that didn’t add to the illusion, a generic magician’s hat lay upon his head, tying the whole outfit together. 

“Angel,” he replies, voice sweet like poison, “Been a while, hasn't it?”

“It’s _Archangel,”_ Mark says, a tired out correction, “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“I thought I told you to remove the blade,”

“It’s not going anywhere.” 

Mage tilts his head, it’s a challenge, like a child taunting another on the playground. He brings his hand up between them and snaps his fingers. The blade disappears from Mark’s hands and he hears it clatter onto the ground, somewhere behind him.

Mark glowers and steps back, “Prick,”

The villain squares out his shoulders, “See, now I’m more comfortable. What were you saying?”

Mark pulls his second sword out, keeping it a safer distance away from the other’s illusions.

“I was asking you why you’re here,”

“To cause problems,” 

“That much is obvious,” Mark mutters. 

That’s the thing about Mage, he’s always where Mark is. Every mission, every fight, he inserts himself just to make Mark’s life a living hell. He terrorises the city with his illusions, and Mark knows he’s much more powerful then he lets on. Mage jokes, he flirts, he pulls bunnies out of his hat, but there’s an unspoken knowledge between the two of them—and maybe even the entire city—that he could do much worse if he so desired. 

“And to kill the senator,” 

A scandalised gasp rings through Mark’s earpiece, he almost forgot that Jaemin is still listening in.

“Oh he’s _bad,_ ” Jaemin says, sounding a little too impressed for Mark’s liking. 

“Shut up, Adonis,” 

Mage’s grin widens, “Adonis is here too? Tell him I say hi,”

“You shut up too,” Mark demands, “You can’t kill the senator,”

“Why not?”

“He’s part of a much bigger trafficking ring, I need him alive to get information out of him,”

Mage hums, like he’s considering it. 

“You just listed more reasons why he should be dead, if anything,”

He strolls past Mark to get a closer look at the window. 

“Mage, I’m serious,” Mark says, he picks up his abandoned sword and follows the other, “I need him,”

“Said no one ever,” 

He groans, “Can’t you be serious for one fucking second? Or do you make it your personal mission to bring me anguish?” 

Mage whirls around on him, black eyes fixing him with a deadly stare.

“I’m serious about killing him,”

“I won’t let you,” 

He laughs, it’s an ugly sound; cruel and ungodly. A figment of his worst intentions. Mark hates it. Mark hates him.

“You can’t stop me,” 

Mark brings his sword back up, handling it with the skill only years of training could bring. Mage might have magic but this isn’t the first time Mark brought a knife to a witch fight. 

“You underestimate me,” 

“No angel, I don’t,” Mage says, taking a step closer to the blade pointed towards him. Mark doesn’t miss the way his fingers move just the slightest bit, and fog rises from above the water, surrounding them.

Dramatic as always. 

“You should understand,” a gloved finger trails down the edge of Mark’s sword, it’s taunting. “You’re no hero, you’re a vigilante at best, sometimes we need to go above the law,”

“We’re not the same,” Mark says through gritted teeth, “I don’t kill people,”

Mage rolls his eyes, “Grow up,”

Mark’s jaw drops, anger igniting in his veins, _“You grow up!”_ he ignores the snort Jaemin lets out and continues, “You kill anyone who looks at you funny and then you throw a bitch fit whenever I stop you— like a five year old!”

“How many murderous five year olds do you know?” Mage asks in amusement. 

“Fuck off!”

He steps closer into Mark’s space. His blade drops from its attacking stance, almost by instinct. 

“Look at him, Archangel,” he says, turning his head to watch the party that draws on, unbothered by the pair arguing outside. 

Senator James is leaning against the piano now, he’s talking on his phone and making big gestures as he does so. 

“Do you think he deserves to be laughing? Smiling? Breathing?” his voice drops lower and lower. 

Mark watches the Senator take a sip of his wine. One second passes, his face pales, another and the glass drops from his hands. His body soon to follow. The man is on the ground now, seizing up as a crowd surrounds him. Mark can do nothing but watch in horror. 

“You fucking––” he turns his head back and the Mage is gone. 

The fog clears, he’s nowhere to be seen. His disappearing act is a success. 

“I hate him,” Mark growls out as he shoves Jaemin’s window open. He slides through the glass and into the apartment at ease. 

Jaemin yelps, sliding back on his desk chair to glare at Mark. 

“I gave you a key for a reason,”

“I hate him,” Mark repeats, ignoring Jaemin’s comment. He rips his mask off and throws it onto the bed. 

“You’ve mentioned, dear,” Jaemin says, “I was about to order takeout, do you want some?”

“ _Jaemin_ , I almost had the Senator! We’ve been working on this mission for weeks only for the stupid mage to ruin it with his stupid party tricks, ” Mark groans out, throwing himself onto the bed. He brings one of Jaemin’s pillows over his face and lets out a frustrated scream. Mark is aware that he’s throwing a tantrum, but he thinks he’s within his right to. Stupid Mage. Stupid magic.

He hears Jaemin sigh, the bed dips next to him as the other boy takes a seat.

“Look on the bright side, at least the bastard is dead,”

Mark frowns, he tosses the pillow aside and looks up at Jaemin.

“A dead bastard is a useless bastard,” 

He whistles lowly, “Harsh words coming from our city’s hero,”

“Well I’m not doing such a great job, am I?”

“Hey,” Jaemin scolds lightly, he brings a hand up to thread through Mark’s hair. Mark takes this as an invitation to move his head onto the boy’s lap. Sighing softly and closing his eyes, Jaemin has always been good at calming him down. “Negativity isn’t a good look on you,” 

Mark lets out a long, suffering sigh, “Sorry, I’m just in a terrible mood,”

“It’ll be okay,” Jaemin says, “Dead men leave footprints behind, especially digital ones. I can find them and we can follow up on his contacts,”

Mark’s eyes shoot open, “His phone,”

“...What?” 

Mark gets up suddenly as the idea strikes him, looking at Jaemin with wide eyes.

“Senator Lee’s phone, it was on him when he died, I saw it,”

Soon enough, Jaemin’s expression is matching his, “If you steal it from the morgue I can hack it,”

“And then we can get his entire contact list, we could take down everyone involved with the trafficking ring,” Mark finishes. 

“See,” Jaemin says, “Everything will be okay,”

Mark smiles fondly at him, he could always count on his guy in the chair. 

“Yeah, I guess it will be,” 

Jaemin pats his arm and stands up, “We can follow up on it tomorrow, for now I’m starving, burgers?”

Mark nods, leaning back and making himself comfortable on the bed. He pulls the covers over himself and settles down. Tonight was tiring and Mark’s eyes are growing heavier by the second. A power nap on Jaemin’s comfortable bed wouldn’t hurt. He lets his eyes close, falling asleep before Jaemin comes back with the burgers. 

When Jaemin wakes up, it's to the incessant sound of his alarm hammering into his skull. Next to him, someone groans. 

“Shut the fuck up,” the voice grumbles. There’s a loud thud as something hits the floor and suddenly the alarm is heard from a muffled distance. 

Jaemin wrenches his eyes open. Skilled swordsman or not, he’s going to muder Mark Lee for throwing his phone across the room. He sits up and elbows the sleeping boy harshly in his side. Mark doesn’t react, instead he buries himself further into the covers. Jaemin eyes the familiar black and red peeking out from the corners of the comforter.

“Did you seriously fall asleep with your suit on?” Jaemin asks incredulously. Mark groans unintelligently in response, Jaemin rolls his eyes, “You’re fucking disgusting, I hope you know that,” 

“Stop being so loud,” Mark whines, pulling the blanket over his head, “Don’t you have a class to get to?”

Jaemin’s eyes widen, the clock on his wall reading 7:45am. 

“Oh shit,” 

Jaemin isn’t a stranger to running late. He shoots up from the bed, getting ready in record time while Mark snores away on his bed. The other boy wasn’t supposed to stay over. But then again, he never _really_ planned to stay over. It just happened, especially after missions when he was too tired to make the trip back to his apartment. It should be weird, sharing a bed with your ex-boyfriend whenever he sleeps over, spending so much time with each other, _solving crimes together._ Jaemin tries not to think about it too much as he pulls his shoes on. Mark doesn’t seem to have a problem with it, so why should he? 

When he makes coffee, he makes extra for Mark to wake up to. Jaemin doesn’t eat breakfast but he heats up some leftovers from the night before, for Mark. They were so intertwined with each other that Jaemin never thought twice about doing these kinds of things. Mark just fit easily into Jaemin’s routine. It’s not weird. Exes can be friends. At least that’s what he tells himself.

He doesn’t even have the time to be overthinking right now. Not when he has a class to get to. 

Jaemin pretty much sprints to his bus stop, foot tapping against the floor impatiently as he waits for the bus to arrive. Then he sprints across campus too, by the time he gets to class, he’s sweating unpleasantly through his shirt. He barges into his Econ lecture fifteen minutes late, flushing and ducking his head as a few people turn to watch him come in. His eyes search for a familiar face to sit next to and he catches Jeno Lee waving him over, patting the empty seat beside him. 

Here’s the thing about Jeno Lee: he’s friendly, unrealistically so. Jaemin met him on the first day of classes, both of them deciding to take econ as an elective. They sat next to each other, Jaemin asked him about the cats on his lockscreen, and they kind of stuck together ever since. Jeno is a Criminology major, Jaemin is in Comp Sci. So they never really run into each other outside of class and study sessions. Jaemin secretly wishes that it was different, Jeno is _nice._ And attractive. Jaemin would really like to get to know him better.

Anyways.

“Thanks for saving the seat,” Jaemin whispers as he sits down. 

“No problem,” Jeno whispers back, “Late night?” he asks, eyes sparkling. They always seemed to sparkle. 

Jaemin laughs, pulling out his laptop. “Yeah, but not in the way you’re thinking,”

“What a shame,” 

“Did I miss anything important?” Jaemin asks.

“No, just assignment briefing, this one looks like a real bitch,”

Jaemin groans, “Not looking forward to it,”

“So hey, my apartment is free this afternoon,” Jeno says, turning to face Jaemin and completely ignoring every word coming out of the professors mouth, “Do you want to work on the assignment together? We can order Indian food and binge drink coffee,”

It’s like Jeno is speaking his love language, truly. The promise of Indian food, coffee and a cute boy who smiled at Jaemin like _that_ is enough to persuade him into taking the hellish subject that is Econ for the rest of his life. He’s about to agree when it horrifyingly dawns on him that he has plans with Mark for the rest of the day. Typical of Mark to cockblock him without even realising it.

“Normally, I would love to,” Jaemin begins, smiling apologetically, “But I already have plans this afternoon,”

“Aw,” Jeno says while honest-to-god pouting. Oh dear Lord, Jaemin is so weak. “What are you doing?”

_Taking down a trafficking ring with infamous hero Archangel who also happens to be my ex boyfriend._

“Family stuff,” 

He doesn’t miss the disappointment clouding over Jeno’s expression, “Oh, that’s fine,” he says as he turns back to his laptop. 

“But I’m free tomorrow!” Jaemin says, maybe a tad too quickly. His worry of coming out too weird and a little desperate resides when Jeno grins at him. 

“Tomorrow it is, do you want my number so we can set it up?” 

Jaemin nods, handing his phone over to Jeno. The boy takes it and types his number in, he even takes a selfie for the contact photo. He’s relieved that Jeno accepts his invitation, he’s been meaning to expand his social circle outside _just_ Mark. The two of them had a few codependency issues to work through. Maybe some space would be good. 

Jeno hands the phone back with a dazzling grin. Jaemin takes it and leans back against his seat, tuning into the lecture. He should at least _try_ to get a few notes down. 

Alas, he’s quick to get distracted again as his brain decides that Jeno was much more entertaining than his professor. Jeno’s biting his lip adorably as he hangs onto every word that was coming out of the professor’s mouth. He’s typing at a painfully slow pace, this would usually drive a computer obsessed freak like Jaemin insane. But Jeno gets a pass, on account of his cuteness. 

Jaemin’s phone buzzes on the desk, breaking him out of this borderline creepy watching of Jeno.

**Bane upon my life:**

_Yo i just found something on [redacted]_

_text me when you’re done with classes_

Jaemin isn't proud of the fact that getting a notification from Mark alone is enough to have him smiling fondly. He’s supposed to be doing better, he’s supposed to be getting over Mark. Maybe with––

He looks at Jeno and a wave of inexplicable guilt washes over him. The boy is still concentrating on the class, completely unbothered. Maybe it’s Jaemin that has issues to work through.

Here’s another thing about Jeno: Mark doesn’t know about him. 

“This dude is so ugly,”

“He’s _dead,_ Mark,” 

Mark wrinkles his nose, “Death made him uglier,” 

“You’re supposed to be looking for his belongings, not at his decaying body.”

Mark pushes Senator James’ body back into the unit, the metal door shuts with a satisfying slam, “I was curious,”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Jaemin singsongs. 

“Give the cat a pair of swords and we’ll see who’s dying,”

He snorts, “You’re so lame.”

“Made you laugh, though,”

Funnily enough, this isn’t Mark’s first time in a morgue. It’s unfortunate to say he finds himself here quite often. So he knows his way around quite well. He easily finds the locked cabinet that leads him to the Senator’s belongings. Mark takes his time to pick the lock, if he wanted to he could just break the door open, but this way causes less damage and suspicion. Slipping in and out. He opens the cabinet to find a plastic baggie filled with the items James had on him, along with a few files. 

“Found his death certificate,” Mark says,

“Cause of death?” comes Jaemin’s voice, slightly muffled through the earpiece. 

“Heart attack,”

He whistles slowly in response. “Mage is good,” 

“I thought it was poison,” Mark says, a little bit in awe, “You don’t think he stopped the Senator’s heart with his magic, do you?”

“It’s possible,” Jaemin says.

“We knew he was powerful but…”

“He could destroy the entire city if he wanted to,” Jaemin says.

“Or if he just gets bored,” 

“Let’s hope he has a hobby then.” 

Mark puts the file back and picks up the plastic baggie. Wallet, keys, phone, handkerchief. He takes out the wallet, stealing the Senator’s ID in case he needed it–– and the cash inside.

“I’m buying us dinner tonight,” Mark says.

He takes the phone out.

“Got the phone,” he says, “you can hack into it right?”

Jaemin hums, “I could, but there’s a much easier way to unlock it,” 

“How?”

“iPhone?” Jaemin asks. 

“Yeah,” 

“Face ID,”

Mark groans, “Oh, you are horrid,”

The mission goes by with no disruptions, which is honestly a surprise considering Mark’s track record, and more importantly, Mage’s. But Mark chooses not to complain while he eats the overpriced takeout he got on the way back from the morgue. He’s sitting on the floor of Jaemin’s bedroom, there for the fourth time that week, while the other boy sits at his computer. He’s going through the details of the Senator’s phone.

“I found encrypted messages,” Jaemin says, “I think we found our list of accomplices,” 

“You’re brilliant,” Mark says, waving his chopsticks around, “Absolutely brilliant, I could never pull off this hero shit without you,”

Jaemin rolls his eyes, cheeks tinting a light pink. 

“Tell me something I don’t know,”

“Take a break for now,” he says, “we can start tomorrow,” 

“Uh, when tomorrow?”

“After classes,”

“I have plans,” Jaemin says, avoiding Mark’s eyes.

He furrows his eyebrows, “Plans that are more important than this?”

“I mean–”

“Jaemin,” Mark says, “Plans that are more important than making the city a safer place for innocent civilians?”

He groans, scowling at Mark for pulling his _hero_ card. “Fine, I’ll cancel,”

Mark grins victoriously. 

“So who were these plans with anyway?” Mark asks as Jaemin joins him on the floor, opening up his own takeout box, “I wasn’t aware you had other friends,” 

_“Ha ha,”_ Jaemin drawls on sarcastically. He still refuses to meet Mark’s eyes, instead he’s staring at his noodles like they’re the most fascinating thing on earth. “Just this dude in my Econ class, we were going to study together,” 

Mark frowns, “That doesn’t seem like such a big deal to reschedule,” 

“It’s not,” Jaemin says, only sounding a tad bit miserable. Mark wonders why this is so important, it’s not like Jaemin usually jumps at the chance to _study._

“I mean if you really want to––”

“Don’t worry about it, Mark,” Jaemin cuts him off, he finally looks at Mark and smiles. But it doesn’t meet his eyes. “You’re right, the mission is more important.” 

Mark’s fear of heights is something that he’s had to conquer over his years of being a hero. When you’re jumping off rooftops and swinging from buildings, you don’t have time to be afraid. But sometimes, the fear comes back to him, settling under his skin and reminding him that he could easily slip and go crashing down onto the unforgiving concrete. 

This is one of those times. 

He’s scaling the building of Parkers Inc. One of the biggest companies in the city, which also happens to have one of the highest buildings in the city. He has to keep reminding himself not to look down. But dear god, he’s so far up. He’s about to sweat through his super-suit. 

According to Senator James’ phone, the CEO of Parkers Inc., Gerald Parker, is heavily involved in the Senator’s _side business._ Mark’s plan is to go through the list of people and collect enough evidence to bring the entire ring down. It’ll take some time but it’ll eventually pay off. He reaches Parker’s office and slips in through one of the large windows. It’s empty, Parker is at some meeting and won’t be back for an hour, giving Mark just enough time to snoop. 

He goes straight to the computer, inserting the USB stick that Jaemin gave him. It’s supposed to download all the files from Parker’s computer, Mark isn’t really sure how it works but he’s learned not to question Jaemin. The boy is a genius. 

“It’s in,” he says into the comms, “Do your thing, Adonis,” 

He’s met with the sound of typing on the side, “Downloading now,” 

While Mark is waiting, he digs through the desk drawers in search of a hard drive, files, _anything_ that looked suspicious. He huffs in disappointment when he finds nothing. Why couldn’t evil men hide their secrets in plain sight like they did in all the movies? His eyes catch a portrait hanging on the wall behind the desk. It’s one of Parker and his family. The typical wealthy Caucasian kind, artificial smiles and expensive suits. Mark raises an eyebrow, there’s no way this man would be this predictable––right? He walks closer, and attempts to remove the painting from the wall, the heavy gold frame makes it difficult. 

“Bingo,” he says. Gerald Parker was, in fact, that predictable. Maybe evil men _were_ all the same, both in fiction and reality. There’s a safe hidden in the wall behind the painting. 

“Adonis, what do you know about cracking safes?”

Jaemin sounds distracted as he replies, “Literally nothing,” 

“Why not?”

The typing sound stops, “What do you mean why not? I wasn’t aware that it was in my guy-in-the-chair job description to know how to crack safes,”

“Well _I_ don’t know how to crack a safe,” Mark shoots back. 

“I can help you with that,” a voice behind Mark says.

A shiver runs down his spine. Mark turns quickly, hands reaching for his swords on instinct.

“Mage,” he bites out. He should’ve noticed the villain’s presence earlier, his nerves were all shaken up from the climb and he’s been off his game. 

Mage tips his hat in greeting, “How do you do, angel?” 

Mark rolls his eyes but the grip on his swords tighten, just in case. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks tiredly, “How did you even know I was here?”

Mage strolls into the room. Mark can’t believe he had to scale the building to get in while Mage just strolled in through the front door. Witch privilege, he thinks. 

“I have my ways,” he replies, the tail of his coat flares out behind him as he walks. “I’m here for you,” 

“How romantic,” Mark says tonelessly, turning his attention back to the safe, “I’m a little busy at the moment though, can you take a number?” 

Mage chuckles, “No, darling, I require your immediate attention.” 

As if to make his point clearer, he sways his hands through the air, adding flair to his movements. His fingers glow purple and the painting, which is now discarded on the ground, floats up and goes back to its original place. The safe is hidden again. 

Mark turns back to Mage and glares. This villain makes his blood boil in a way that has yet to be matched by any other. 

“You are the most frustrating person I’ve ever come across,” 

Mage grins in return, it’s all teeth and entirely vicious, “I want the Senator’s phone,” 

Mark raises an eyebrow, then he realises that Mage can’t see it under his mask.

“There’s no way in hell,”

Mage walks around the desk, each step he takes closer to Mark is another inch higher he raises his sword. He’s not taking any chances this time. He’ll draw blood if he has to.

“All I need is the list of James’ accomplices,” Mage says, “Then I’ll leave you alone,” 

“You must think I’m stupid,” Mark replies, he takes a step forward, pointing his sword straight at Mage’s chest. He visually marks an X right over his heart, his target. “This is a hitlist to you. You’ll go around the city killing them off one by one.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Isn’t it better that the vermin of this city drop dead?” 

“That’s not the right way to handle things,” Mark says. He doesn’t know why he’s bothering. This is a pointless argument, one he’s had with Mage countless times, and in countless settings. There’s no changing him. Once a villain, always a villain. “Let me handle this, Mage, I’ll make sure the criminals are taken care of,” 

“I don’t trust that you will,” Mage grits out, “These people have connections, do you really think they’ll stay in jail once you put them there? Even _you_ aren’t that naive.” 

“I’ll find a way.” Mark says, “Just because killing them is the easy way doesn’t make it the right way.”

Mage’s hands begin to glow purple. He growls out, “I’m tired of asking nicely.”

Mark feels it before it happens. A surge of energy, red and hot, striking him straight in the chest and throwing him backwards. His swords clatter to the ground and Mark is thrown across the room, slamming into one of the walls. All the breath is knocked out of him. 

Mage is running at him, probably to extract the phone from Mark. But Mark is quicker, he reaches into his knife sleeve and pulls out his daggers. Despite his vision that’s now starting to blur, his aim is perfect. He throws the knife and it hits Mage right in the shoulder. The magician cries out in pain. Mark jumps up, he just needs to pull the USB from the computer and leave. He can come back for the safe later. 

He’s about to make a run for the computer when Mage pulls the knife out. Crimson drips from the blade but the villain looks entirely unbothered. He lunges straight for Mark, tackling him onto the ground.

No magic tricks, no knives drawn. Mage punches him straight in the jaw. 

“I think you deserved that one,” he says. 

Mark is inclined to disagree, he punches Mage back. 

The skin on Mark’s knuckles break, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing another punch. Mage grins at him from where he’s on top of Mark. White teeth stained with blood and legs on either side of Mark’s torso. His fist connects with Mark’s jaw. 

There’s something raw about them fighting without their weapons. Without their armour. They’ve never done this before. The energy in the air is different, unhinged and animalistic. Mage must be more desperate for this list then he lets on. It clearly means something to him. 

Maybe it’s this realisation that weakens Mark. Or maybe it just catches him off guard. Because he hesitates for a split second, and that’s enough for Mage to slam Mark’s head onto the floor. Slowing him down enough to pat down Mark’s suit in search of the phone. Mark can see the exact moment Mage finds the phone because his black eyes glint with joy. 

He stands up, leaving Mark on the floor and brushing himself off. 

“Sorry about the blood in your mouth,” Mage says. Mark leans over and spits it out. 

“I’ll be off now,” he continues, “Thanks for the phone, angel.” 

And just like that, fog lifts all over the room. Once it clears, Mage is long gone. 

Mark rests his head back against the floor. The room is starting to spin, his head is throbbing and he’s sure his nose is broken. He lost the Senator’s phone and now there isn’t a point to investigating this case further. Not if Mage is planning on killing everyone. Weeks of gruelling work, swirling down the drain, just like that. This is a disaster. 

Jaemin doesn’t like Mark when he gets like this.

When he storms into Jaemin’s apartment with trembling hands and his face covered in blood. When he kicks things, screams in frustration, and refuses to let Jaemin look at his wounds. When he reduces himself to nothing but anger and defeat. It reminds Jaemin of the worst parts about this job. The pain, the horror, the blood that was drying under Mark’s nose. It terrifies him, more than he cares to admit. Although, he would never tell Mark that, because he knew even one whisper of reluctance from Jaemin, would be enough for Mark to pack up the suit and never touch it again. Because that’s just how Mark is. And Jaemin couldn’t allow him to give up being Archangel. Because that’s how Jaemin is. 

“Mark,” Jaemin says quietly. He’s pacing the room and angrily ranting, his words are barely coming out coherent. Jaemin stands from his seat and grabs Mark’s arm, forcing him to stop. “Please calm down,” 

Mark halts, he looks down at the hand on his arm and then back up at Jaemin. He’s searching Jaemin’s eyes for something. He takes in a long, shuddering exhale when he finds it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I know you hate it when I get angry,” 

Jaemin reaches up and touches the side of Mark’s face. It’s reluctant, he’s not sure if he’s allowed to do this anymore. Mark closes his eyes and leans into it. The two of them have a bad habit of blurring lines like that.

“It’s not that I hate it,” Jaemin says, “It just scares me sometimes,” 

Mark’s eyes shoot open at this, the anger is long gone and replaced with worry. “Jaemin, you know that I would never––”

“I know, Mark,” he says, smiling, “God, _of course,_ I know that. But I also know that what you do is violent and scary and one day you might not come home,” 

“I–” Mark cuts himself off, “I don’t know what to say. I’m afraid if I promise something now, I won’t be able to keep it.” 

“That’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,” Jaemin touches the dried blood on Mark’s cheek, the skin underneath is warm. Mark made it home today, that’s all that matters. “Just let me clean you up, please?” 

Mark nods, he wordlessly sits down on the couch, waiting for Jaemin to bring over the first aid kit and some ice. 

Jaemin cleans Mark up in silence. With a life as loud as theirs, silences like these were cherished. They didn’t need to speak to understand each other. 

There are no lasting scars and his nose isn’t broken. Only harsh bruising and a lot of blood to clean up. He gently presses the wet rag to Mark’s skin, the boy’s gaze never leaving his. 

Jaemin clears his throat, rinsing the rag out into a bowl. “The investigation doesn’t have to end here,” he says, hoping his words bring back the flicker of hope behind Mark’s eyes. “I made a copy of the list and we have the intel from Parker’s computer. We could get to the perps before Mage does,” 

Mark sighs, “Mage is right,” 

Jaemin reels back, if anything about today was groundbreakingly shocking. It’s this. 

“I’m sorry, are you concussed?” 

Mark laughs, it’s devoid of any humour; bitter. “It’s better that he deals with them. Even if we gather all the evidence we need, there’s no guarantee that these people will rot in jail forever. The world isn’t that kind to us.” 

“Are you saying we should… let Mage kill them?” 

Mark nods solemnly, “These people ran a _trafficking ring._ Death is something they deserve, but I could never kill them. It only makes sense to hand it over to Mage, since he’s so willing.”

Jaemin brings the rag back up to finish cleaning Mark’s face.

“I agree with you,” he says, “And even if I didn’t, I’d still support you.” 

Mark reaches over to hold his hand. “Thanks, Jaemin.” 

“So, our mission is complete?” 

Mark’s wearing a phantom of a smile, “Our mission is complete.”

Jeno shows up to Jaemin’s apartment with Indian takeaway and a nervous smile, just as he promised. When Jaemin first heard the knocking on his door, he got whiplash. He isn’t used to someone actually knocking on his door. Mark barely even used the door to begin with. 

With the significant lack of missions, Jaemin suddenly had a lot of free time. So he invited Jeno over the first chance he could. Partly because he felt guilty for bailing on the boy twice, and mostly because he wanted an excuse to see Jeno again. Twice a week during Econ lectures isn’t nearly enough. 

“Hey,” Jaemin greets, letting Jeno inside, “Thanks for bringing food, I’m starving,” 

Jeno grins, “It’s no problem, it was on my way,” 

They set the food out on the coffee table, neither of them bother to take their books out. They sit on the floor and pack their plates with food instead.

“Was I interrupting something?” Jeno asks, gesturing at the TV which is paused on _Gravity Falls._

Jaemin feels his cheeks warm up. In his rush to panic clean the apartment before Jeno arrived, he forgot to turn off the TV. 

“I like watching cartoons,” he admits embarrassingly, “This one’s my favourite,” 

Jeno hums, “That’s cute.” 

_Cute_. The compliment coming so casually from Jeno’s lips takes him by complete surprise. He almost chokes on his naan. 

“I don’t usually watch cartoons,” Jeno continues, “Maybe I should start this one,” 

“What do you usually watch?”

“You’re going to make fun of me,” 

“Most likely,” Jaemin retorts with a teasing smile, “But it can’t be more embarrassing than this,” 

“I mostly watch true crime documentaries,” 

Jaemin blinks, “A criminology major who watches true crime. Could you get any more boring?” 

“I like _Our Planet_ too!” Jeno defends, his expression dangerously heading towards pout territory. 

“That’s not any better,” Jaemin says, “You are truly deprived, Jeno. I need to introduce you to the great world of fiction,” 

“Sure, but we have to work on our Econ paper first,” 

Jaemin shakes his head, “This may be more important than something as silly as grades.”

Jeno gives him an amused look, “Nice try, but no,” 

Jaemin gives an exaggerated sigh, “Dammit,” 

When they finish eating, Jeno helps Jaemin put the dishes away. He even _offers_ to wash them. Jaemin could have swooned right then and there. He reassures Jeno that he doesn’t need help doing the dishes, he’ll just leave it in the sink until he needs to use the plates agan. Jeno chastises him for being a slob but lets it go. 

They make a start on their assignment, but are quick to get distracted. Jeno is easy to talk to, he’s funny in a lame sort of way and he acts like he doesn’t have a care in the world. A boy like him is refreshing. Leaves no room for surprises. 

When he’s with Jeno, he feels like he can be carefree too. No missions to lead or secret government agency to worry about hacking into, just him and Jeno, sitting on the couch and laughing together about something stupid. 

“You’re an idiot,” Jaemin says through a bout of laughter. 

Jeno giggles, “You didn’t think I was more than just a pretty face, did you?” he asks. 

“Egotistical too,” Jaemin rolls his eyes, he leans over to shove Jeno’s arm playfully. 

Jeno hisses in pain, grabbing the area that Jaemin jabbed. 

“Oh shit––sorry,” Jaemin says, taking in Jeno’s pained expression, “I guess I don’t know my own strength,” 

Jeno waves him off, “It’s no big deal,” 

“You sure? You look pretty pained right now,”

“Yeah, no worries,” Jeno replies “I hurt my arm during work and it’s taking a while to heal,” 

Jaemin shrugs it off. 

“So hey,” Jeno begins, leaning in closer to Jaemin, “As much as I love hanging out with you under the pretence of studying, how would you like to go on a real date?” 

Another thing about Jeno is that he’s forward. There’s no running in circles or the passive dropping of hints. He asks for what he wants, and Jaemin admires that. Refreshing. 

Jaemin leans in closer, his arm leaning against the back of the couch, “I’d love to go on a date with you,” 

A week without missions is making Mark restless. If Jaemin had been here, he’d tell Mark to enjoy the break. He’s been working non-stop for years, it’s always been criminal after criminal. This is the first time things have been so slow. While the sentiment is nice, Mark isn’t good at doing nothing. He has to do everything, all the time. Over everything, he misses being back in his suit, tasting the night air while he ran around the city. He misses using his swords. Sitting around and writing his Roman History paper just isn’t doing it for him. 

(It’s also taking a huge toll on his ego that his mission was _stolen_ from him, by Mage of all people, but he would rather not address that).

He stands up from his desk chair, feeling way too jittery to stay still. Energy flows through his veins instead of blood, and he needs an outlet. He pulls his suit out of the back of his closet, welcoming it like an old friend. Okay, it’s only been a week, but Mark has attachment issues. 

He pulls his suit on and takes his time ensuring each one of his knives are in place. It’s a process. He grabs his stolen police scanner on the way out. 

Mark has the route to Jaemin’s apartment memorised by now. He could travel there with his eyes closed––he would if he wasn’t so terrified of missing his step and falling to his doom. Much like the route to Jaemin’s apartment, Mark likes to think he’s well versed on all things Jaemin. Which is why he’s surprised to find the boy dressed up for a night out when Mark slips in through his bedroom window. 

“You look good,” Mark says, the words come out less like a compliment and more like a question. 

Jaemin startles from where he’s staring into the mirror, halfway through putting on a necklace. Years of sneaking in through his bedroom window and Jaemin still gets surprised every time. He turns around to glare at Mark.

“Try not to sound so surprised,” Jaemin bites back, not unkindly. His eyes rake over Mark, clad in red and black and he raises an eyebrow, “Did a mission come up?”

Mark shakes his head, taking a seat at the window sill and swinging his legs. “No, but I thought we could patrol the streets and…” he trails off, distracted by the way Jaemin turns back to add more jewellery around his neck. He rarely dresses up like this, he’s in a silky cream button up and _tight_ jeans. “Where are you going?” 

Jaemin glances back at him nervously, his attention is on the bracelets at his wrist as he fiddles with them, “Um– on a date,” 

_“A date?”_ Mark repeats.

Jaemin frowns at him, “Again, try not to sound so surprised,” there’s more bite to the words this time. 

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Mark says. 

“It’s recent,” Jaemin replies, “Also, I’m not obligated to tell you everything that goes on in my life.” 

Mark furrows his eyebrows. That’s not what he––why is Jaemin being so curt with him? 

“I know that,” he says, “But it’s nice to know these things. That’s what friends do, right?”

Jaemin gives him a strange look. “Right,”

He’s putting on a pair of earrings now, silver and dangly. A pair that Mark gifted him months ago. Something uneasy curls into the pit of his stomach. 

“Who’s the guy?”

“Jeno,” Jaemin says with a small smile, “He’s in my Econ class.”

The feeling in his stomach grows. It’s pungent green and ugly. Mark doesn’t like how unsettled he feels. Everything about this situation is rubbing him the wrong way.

Jeno from Econ, Mark doesn’t like him already. Call it his hero instinct. 

He hops off the window sill and moves closer to Jaemin. 

“What do you even know about him?” he asks. 

Jaemin shrugs, “He’s nice,”

“That’s it?”

“Isn’t that the whole point of a date?” Jaemin adds, “To get to know each other?”

“Yeah but you should at least know the basics. What if he’s a total creep?” 

“Jeno is _not_ a creep,” Jaemin says defensively. 

Mark scoffs, “Yeah, because _your_ judgement is so trustworthy,” 

Jaemin’s eyebrows pull downwards, creases forming across his forehead, and his jaw clenches. Telltale signs that Mark is getting on his nerves. This wouldn’t be the first time. 

“What the hell is with all the questions?” 

Mark shrugs, “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into,”

“It’s a _date,_ Mark!” he angrily grits out, “Not a fucking mission. And don’t pretend this is just about you wanting to protect me,” 

The corners of Mark’s lips turn downwards, “What else would it be about?” 

“Don’t act so obtuse,” Jaemin says, he points an accusing finger at Mark, “This isn’t you being a protective friend, it’s you being a jealous ex.” 

_“I am not––”_

“Don’t even try to deny it,” Jaemin cuts him off harshly, “You can't stand the thought of me moving on from you. Sometimes I feel like there’s some part of you that thinks we never broke up. News flash Mark, we’re over. And I’m going on this date.” 

Mark flinches at the words like he’s been hit. He steps backwards from Jaemin. Mark has always been able to take a hit, his skin is thick. But Jaemin’s words cut deep. Mark can handle a knife to his throat, but he can’t handle Jaemin being upset with him. 

He’s really crossed a line tonight. 

“I’m––” he cuts himself off, unsure of what to say. The apartment suddenly feels too small, too cold. It’s an odd sensation; feeling unwelcome in Jaemin’s apartment. 

“I should get going,” Mark says, heading towards the window he entered through, “Have fun on your date,” he adds bitterly before disappearing back into the night. 

Before there was Archangel and Adonis, there was Mark and Jaemin. Before they were heroes, they were two boys who were falling in love. Some might have said that seventeen was too young to fall in love, but Mark was an angry kid in his fifth foster home and _no one_ was telling him what to do. 

He met Jaemin on the roof of their shared apartment complex. He was still getting used to the new home, knowing that these things weren’t permanent. Between his issues with aggression and strange affinity towards knife-fighting, foster parents only kept him around long enough to collect their checks. 

He found a strange sort of solace on the rooftop. He never got too close to the edge nor did he enjoy looking down. But sitting there and watching the city lights, letting the night air kiss his skin. It was a welcoming feeling. Mark hoped that this home worked out, if only for its rooftop. 

One night, he was joined by another boy. 

The door leading to the roof rattled as Jaemin slammed it open. He stormed in with tears streaming down his face, not noticing that he had company until a tiny voice asked,

“Are you okay?” 

He turned his head, making eye contact with Mark. He was sitting on the concrete, knees pulled up as he rested his chin against it, staring at Jaemin with his big eyes. 

“I’m fine,” Jaemin said, wiping his face with his sleeve. 

“You don’t look fine,” the boy replied. 

Jaemin huffed, choosing to change the subject, “You’re the new kid, I’ve seen you at school.” 

Mark nodded, “Don’t get too familiar, I won’t be here long,” 

“What makes you say that?” 

Mark shrugged, “Just a feeling,” 

Jaemin sat down next to Mark. To this day, Mark still has no idea why Jaemin chose to stay that night, but he’s sure glad he did. 

Jaemin went up to the roof whenever his parents were fighting. Mark went up whenever he was feeling lonely. Sometimes they sat in silence, sometimes they talked, sometimes Mark brought his uno cards up so they could play. 

“Fighting makes me feel better, but the school counsellor says that it’s unhealthy,” Mark said one night. They were playing uno and Jaemin asked him about the bruise on his cheek. He placed down a draw four card, “I got kicked out of my last foster home because I pulled a knife on one of the kids,” 

“You’re insane,” Jaemin replied, placing down a second draw four card. Mark swore as he picked up eight cards, “At least tell me the kid had it coming,” 

Mark shrugged, “Raging homophobe, he used to bully one of the younger kids for it,” 

Jaemin nodded in approval. 

“Maybe instead of picking fights at school, you can channel your fighting into more productive shit,”

“What do you mean?” 

“You know,” he gestures, “fighting crime, like those superheros on the news,” 

“You mean like fucking _Phantasm_?” Mark said, bursting into a fit of giggles. 

“Hey!” Jaemin said, frowning, “What’s wrong with Phantasm?”

“You mean other than the fact that he wears his undies outside his pants?” 

“Okay well, we’ll get you a better hero suit then that,” 

Mark raised an eyebrow, “You’re serious?” 

Jaemin shrugged, “Why not? Life is boring, this might spice things up a bit. Plus I just learned how to hack into the server at the police station,” 

Mark gave him a look, “And I’m the insane one?” 

“Shut up. Are you in or not?” 

Mark didn’t have to think twice. If Jaemin was in, then so was he. 

“I’m in,” 

Mark kissed Jaemin after their first ever mission.

The mission itself was barely anything. Mark beat up a bunch of guys trying to rob a liquor store. But the adrenaline rush it gave him was incredible, addictive, Mark wanted to drown in it. He kissed Jaemin right after, crawling in through his bedroom window where the boy was sitting at his computer, headpiece in as he listened to police scanners. He looked up at Mark with a brilliant expression, he was just as excited as Mark was. He pulled Jaemin up from his chair and kissed him straight on the mouth. He didn’t realise how badly he wanted to do it until he did. He didn’t realise how hard he was falling for Jaemin until he did. Jaemin wrapped his arms around Mark and kissed him back with equal fervour. 

When they pulled away, Jaemin’s grin was blinding. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed out. 

Mark laughed breathlessly, leaning his forehead against Jaemin’s and closing his eyes. “Holy shit,” 

Jaemin became the one constant in Mark’s life. 

When Mark turned eighteen, he left his last foster home, but he still had Jaemin. They were good together. Best friends turned lovers always were. They balanced each other out perfectly, both in and out of missions. Jaemin had always understood Mark in a way that others couldn’t. 

The hero life was tougher than they realised. It was blood-shed, violence and villain after villain. It was politics and government organisations and at one point–– war. Archangel established himself as a force to be reckoned with, and as a reward, he got a target on his back. He fell victim to revenge plans by villains who never got over their defeat and the strange politics of living among other heroes, all while trying to get a degree.

Mark and Jaemin have been dragged through hell and back. They were just two kids chasing their adrenaline rushes, looking for a little fun, only to be sucked into something much bigger than themselves.

It started taking a toll on their relationship. Work started coming home, they started fighting more, cutting at each other where it hurt the most. Some nights, they didn’t even speak to each other outside of missions. 

Their relationship was never meant to interfere with their work. If anything it was meant to make them stronger together, a better team. They were Archangel and Adonis; inseparable. But their arguments grew malicious, a way to take out their stress on each other, it was unhealthy. 

They didn’t realise how bad it was, until it almost cost Mark his life. 

It was when they were facing one of their more dangerous villains. One that was hell-bent on ending Mark’s life, he had some sick vendetta against him. 

Mark had never gone into a mission without Jaemin. But after a particularly nasty argument, one that ended with Mark storming off, he left for his mission and turned off his communications.

He thought nothing of it, until he encountered the villain and had taken the worst beating he’s ever had in his entire life. 

Mark was as good as dead that night. Lying helplessly on the ground, hurt to the point where everything felt numb. There was no light, no life flashing before his eyes. Only his argument with Jaemin replaying in his mind as his eyes slipped closed and he took his final breaths. 

By some stroke of luck, Mark didn’t die that night. The other heroes of the city caught wind of the villain terrorising the city. Mark couldn’t believe he was saved by fucking Phantasm of all heroes, he would laugh about it with Jaemin later. But in that moment, it wasn’t so funny.

That night, the fighting, Mark almost dying. It was the wake up call they needed. 

“I can’t believe you went out there without me,” Jaemin said, his words were harsh but he was pulling a blanket around Mark, careful not to press at any of his wounds, “You’re a fucking idiot,” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Mark said, his voice was still raspy from where he was put in a chokehold earlier, a ring of purple surrounding his throat, “I’ll never do it again, I promise,” 

“I’m sorry I pushed you to go alone,” Jaemin said, “God, Mark. If you died tonight––”

“I didn’t,” Mark interrupted, he reached over to hold Jaemin’s hand, placing it over his chest, so Jaemin could feel his heartbeat, “See, I’m alive, I’m safe. We don’t need to talk about what ifs,” 

Jaemin swallowed thickly, he was quiet for a moment, and then, “But we need to talk about us,” 

Mark had seen it coming for weeks now, their impending break up, but hearing it was different. Hearing him made it realise how much he didn’t want it. 

“This isn’t healthy Mark, we can’t keep going like this. Especially if it almost gets you killed.”

Mark wasn’t ready for it to end so soon. He couldn’t lose Jaemin, the boy was all he had. 

“We can’t be a team _and_ be in a relationship,” Jaemin continued, “It’s just too messy,” 

“So we’ll stop the team,” Mark said easily, desperately. He would give up everything and anything for Jaemin, “It was a good run. But now we can just be regular college kids,” 

Jaemin was looking at him with exasperation and fondness, “I see how much you love being Archangel, and I love being your guy in the chair, I’m not going to make you give it up.” 

Mark screwed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t cry. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispered. 

He heard Jaemin sigh, he pressed their foreheads together, “I don’t want to either, but it’s the right thing to do,” 

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Mark’s lips. It was short and bittersweet. It tasted like finality. 

And so, they chose Archangel and Adonis over Mark and Jaemin.

Mark finds himself on a rooftop. He’s laying down, using his arms as a pillow while he watches the sky. The city is too polluted to see any stars, but he’s always had a good imagination. The police scanner buzzes next to him like white noise. There haven't been any good cases tonight, just petty thefts and a single car chase. Neither of which required much effort for Mark to handle. 

He’s bored, he’s restless and he’s only the tiniest bit upset at how harshly Jaemin had spoken to him. 

Jaemin was right. There is a part of Mark that will never get over Jaemin. A part of him that still hoped they would get back together, that yearned for it. He always thought that Jaemin felt the same way, that he was waiting for the right time. Tonight shattered the rose tinted glass that Mark was looking through, it was the ice cold reality that Jaemin is moving on. Maybe Mark should too. 

_“...an APB out to STAR labs, known offender Doyoung Kim found breaking in and holding scientists hostage,”_

Mark shoots up. Doyoung Kim, now that was a household name. He scrambles up and pulls his mask back over his face. STAR Labs isn’t too far away, he could make it in time. There’s no way he’s passing up this mission, Doyoung Kim is the leader of the biggest villain organization in the city. He runs VENOM with an iron-fist, producing only the most heinous of villains. It’s extremely rare that he does a job himself, rather than sending his minions to do it for him. This must be important. 

He’s been to STAR Labs countless times before, Archangel has allies all over the city, including scientists who work in a secret lab, producing weaponry and conducting experiments that were borderline illegal. It’s no surprise that STAR Labs are receiving trouble, they’re usually prone to it. 

Police officers are surrounding the lab, Mark sneaks past them, choosing instead to enter through the roof. It’s easy to break in from there. 

He finds Doyoung Kim in the biggest room in the building. The walls and the floor are pure white, desks were lined up in the middle, high tech computers sitting on top of it. One of the tables is lined with beakers full of chemicals. Mark’s hiding in the shadows watching as Doyoung searches through the different beakers, he pulls out a test tube full of green liquid. 

There are three scientists tied up and sitting on the lab floor, Mark recognises one of them. Dr. Lee. He made Mark’s supersuit for him. 

Doyoung marches over and grabs Dr. Lee by the collar, aggressively pulling him upwards. 

“Which one is it?” he grits out. 

Dr. Lee refuses to answer, fixing Doyoung with a cold stare. 

“This is the last time I’ll ask nicely,” Doyoung sneers, he pulls a gun out of his coat, “Which one is the serum?” 

Mark cuts in before things could get ugly. He throws a knife and it hits Doyoung straight in the arm, he hisses as he lets go of Dr. Lee. 

Mark steps out of the shadows, “Let them go, Doyoung,” 

Doyoung scowls when he catches sight of Mark, pulling the knife out and letting it clatter to the floor. 

“Archangel,” he says, “This doesn’t concern you,” 

“You’re hurting innocent civilians, so it does concern me,” Mark says, he reaches for his sword. Just in case things start to get ugly. “The building is surrounded, it’s best you surrender now,”

“Not until I get what I’m looking for,” Doyoung says. 

All of a sudden, the room fills up with fog. Mark lets out a troubled sigh, the signature Mage move. 

To the surprise of absolutely no one, Mage materialises into the lab, next to the table of chemicals. He’s holding an enclosed test tube between his fingers, it’s filled with thick, purple liquid. 

He waves it tauntingly, “Is this what you’re looking for?” 

Doyoung snaps his head in Mage’s direction, his glare is deadly. 

“Please don’t tell me you're working with Doyoung,” Mark says exasperatedly. He’s so sick of Mage turning up everywhere, he’s going to start prematurely greying. 

Mage scoffs, “Dear god no,” he says, sounding offended, “I don’t work with scum,” 

He sends Doyoung a dirty look. Doyoung looks like he wants to murder Mage. Mark knows the feeling. 

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” 

“I only came here because _he_ was on the list,” Mage said, pointing towards Dr. Lee, “I didn’t realise there would be a party,” 

_“Dr. Lee,”_ Mark says, betrayal suddenly washing over him. There’s no way. 

“Not for the trafficking,” Mage says, as if reading Mark’s mind. He wonders for a minute if Mage _can_ read his mind. That would make the entire secret identity thing pointless. “For something else,” Mage returns his gaze to the serum in his hands, watching it curiously. 

“Do you know something I don’t?” Mark asks. 

Mage is about to answer when Doyoung cuts in, “That’s enough chit chat,” he growls, lunging for Mage in a manner that is entirely animalistic. 

Mage is quicker, he disappears before Doyoung can grab him, reappearing next to Mark. He feels like he’s entering a cinema halfway through the movie. He’s missing so many details. There’s something going on that he doesn’t know about, and apparently it’s bigger than the trafficking case. 

“Why is Dr. Lee on that list?” Mark asks. 

“For making this,” Mage answers distractedly, gesturing to the serum in his hands. This seems to make Doyoung see red, he lunges for the serum again, and Mage disappears again. It soon becomes a twisted game of whack-a-mole. 

Mark narrowly dodges Doyoung as he moves past. He’s more concerned with getting the answers than fighting the bigger villain. Mage reappears on top of the desk.

“What’s so important about the serum?” Mark asks. 

Mage shrugs, “I don’t know, but the senator wanted it and Doyoung wants it, so now I want it,” 

He jumps off the desk before Doyoung can get to him. 

Mark groans. So Mage doesn’t know anything either! He’s just being _petty._

“I’ve had enough,” Doyoung’s voice booms loudly. He pulls his gun out, pointing it straight at Mage’s head. 

He lifts his hands up in surrender, a smirk playing at his lips. 

“This is my cue to leave,” he says, he tips his hat at Mark, “Until next time, angel,” 

The room fills up with fog once more, Doyoung begins shooting aimlessly. Mark takes this distraction to free the hostages, he slides over and unties Dr. Lee first, maybe the scientist could give him some answers. 

When the fog clears, Mage is gone and there are bullet holes in the computers. A master of illusions. 

Mark groans again, annoyed that Mage left him to deal with an angry Doyoung. He stands up, unsheathing his dual swords. Time for a fight. 

He manages to capture Doyoung, but the man put up one hell of a fight. He seemed to be angry that Mage bested him and was acting out because of it. Mark couldn’t blame him, Mage brought out the worst in him too. 

He manages to hand Doyoung over to the police. But he knows the power Doyoung Kim holds. He’s got sway in the system, he’s obscenely rich and a master of jail break. He always ends up right back on top, sitting on his throne in VENOM and watching the city burn. Mark had to keep his eye on him. 

Dr. Lee wouldn’t tell him anything either. He refused to break his confidentiality code but thanked Mark profusely for saving his life, insisting that he upgraded his suit for free in gratitude. If Mark couldn’t get answers about the mysterious serum, at least he could get this. 

Mark is buzzing on his way home that night. Choosing to take the scenic route, flying across the city, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Even though he couldn’t find any answers tonight, he still felt so alive. Getting back on the field, fighting the biggest villain in the city, getting punched in the face by said villain. It all energised him, giving him the adrenaline rush he had been missing all week. Mark fucking loves this job. 

He stops short. The alleyway he just entered looking all too familiar. He was halfway to Jaemin’s apartment. In the midst of all the action, he had completely forgotten of the fight they had earlier, he was ready to show up at Jaemin’s window and relay all the little details of the fight to him. Maybe Jaemin would have ideas about the serum. 

Mark shakes the thought away and takes a detour, making his way to his own apartment. 

Jaemin was probably busy anyway. After all, he was on a _date._

Jaemin is standing outside Mark’s apartment when he gets home. He’s pacing outside the door, as if contemplating whether or not to knock. Mark pauses in the middle of the hallway, Jaemin looks up, stopping when he notices him. 

“What are you doing here?” Mark asks. 

Jaemin runs his hands through his hair nervously, messing it up from how it was neatly styled for his date. 

“I felt awful about yelling at you earlier, I thought I could catch you before you fell asle––” he stops. Eyes taking Mark apart, carefully. His mask is off and he’s wearing a black hoodie, but it did little to cover the black and red of his suit. “You went without me,” 

Mark says nothing. He walks past Jaemin and unlocks the front door, gesturing for the other boy to enter first. Jaemin walks in and heads straight for the freezer, taking out a bag of frozen vegetables and throwing it at Mark. He catches it effortlessly, bringing it up to ice the bruise forming across his cheek. 

“You went on a mission without me,” Jaemin repeats, voice vacant of any emotion, “You promised you wouldn’t do that again,” 

He’s hurt and he’s trying not to show it. It’s a shame that Mark can read him like his favourite book. 

“I know,” Mark says. The yellow kitchen lights flicker weakly above them, casting shadows across Jaemin’s face. Mark moves closer, “I’m sorry,” 

“Even if it’s just patrolling the streets,” he stresses out, “I’m supposed to be there with you,” 

“I was going to––”

“Did you do this to punish me?” Jaemin asks, voice breaking, “Because I yelled at you? Because last time we fought you went alone and you almost––”

“Hey,” Mark says gently, reaching forwards and pulling Jaemin into a hug. The boy goes easily, crumbling into Mark and gripping tightly at the back of his shirt, “I wasn’t trying to punish you, I would never want to hurt you like that Jaemin,” 

Jaemin sniffs, he buries his head into Mark’s neck. Holding onto him like he’s holding onto dear life. Mark shatters with guilt. 

“I’m sorry,” Mark says again, “I was just being dumb and reckless. Look, I’m fine aren’t I? I’m alive.” 

Jaemin pulls back, fingers trailing lightly over the bruise on Mark’s cheek. His eyes are shining with unshed tears, Mark kind of feels like crying too. 

Jaemin smiles, “You’re alive,” 

“Besides,” Mark says, trying to ease the tense mood, “I was _going_ to invite you earlier, but you were busy with your date,” 

Jaemin rolls his eyes, “Wasn’t much of a date,” he says bitterly, “He left early because of some emergency,” 

Mark can’t help the way his smile grows, “Sorry it didn’t work out,” 

Jaemin gives him a pointed look, “No you’re not,” 

“Yeah, I’m not,” 

Jaemin is smiling too, “You’re such a dick.” 

Mark is staring at him fondly. Right now, it’s just the two of them, all alone in Mark’s cramped kitchen. Everything else fades away, nothing else matters. Not when, despite everything, Jaemin and Mark always find their way back to each other. 

Mark brings his hand up to graze over Jaemin’s cheek, a stray tear escapes his eyes and catches on Mark’s thumb. He wipes it away. They’ll be okay. 

“Come on,” Jaemin begins, pulling away from Mark completely, “Tell me about the mission,” 

“Oh my god,” Mark says excitedly, “You’re going to _love_ this.”

Jeno shows up outside Jaemin’s lecture hall holding a cup of boba. He‘s standing in the courtyard, the sun shining down on him like a spotlight. Jaemin’s eyes find his immediately even though he isn’t looking for it. He scolds his expression into something neutral before walking over to Jeno. 

“Hey.” Jeno greets, “I got this for you,” 

He hands Jaemin the boba. It’s Jaemin’s order right down to the percentage of ice. Jaemin had a habit of bringing boba to class, even if it cost him tardiness. He just didn’t think Jeno was paying attention. 

“Thanks,” Jaemin says, taking a sip. 

Jeno’s smile is apologetic, “I’m sorry about the other night, can I make it up to you?” 

Jaemin was planning on forgiving Jeno anyway, it’s not like he hadn’t cancelled on Jeno before. But it was nice to be chased, so he says, 

“It depends, what do you have in mind?” 

“I borrowed my friend’s truck,” he says, “I was thinking we could drive out of the city and watch the sunset somewhere nice,” 

Jaemin raises an eyebrow, impressed. “That sounds romantic,” 

“Figured I’d pull out all the stops,” Jeno says, “You deserve the best,” 

Jaemin bites back a smile, “I would’ve been happy with just the boba, but since you asked so kindly, I suppose I have time to spare,” he adds coyly. 

Jeno laughs, holding out his hand for Jaemin to take. 

“It’s never a straight answer with you, is it?” 

Jaemin takes it. 

“Buy me another drink and maybe you’ll get one,” 

The truck is red and the door on the passengers side is terribly scratched up. The seat is lumpy and Jaemin has to shift to get comfortable. He doesn’t mind though, because soft music is playing and Jeno holds his hand while he drives. The drive is quiet, the comfortable kind, the kind that you revel in. Jaemin hums along with the music, kicking his feet onto the dashboard and watching as the city disappears behind him. The towering buildings all blur into one as they drive into the countryside. The concrete jungle being replaced by a real one. Jaemin almost forgot how beautiful the outskirts of the city were, nothing but green stretched out for miles. The late afternoon sun beams down on them, making everything golden. He looks over to Jeno; golden. 

The drive up the hill is steep, but Jeno navigates it easily. They’re the only car parked at the lookout point. Jaemin is glad for the privacy. The city looks so small from up here, like Jaemin could hold it in his palms.

“Ready?” Jeno says when he stops the engine. 

Jaemin unbuckles his seatbelt, getting out at the same time as Jeno. 

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?” he jokes. 

Jeno laughs, eyes twinkling as he asks, “Do I look like a murderer?” 

Jaemin pretends to think about it, giving the boy an exaggerated onceover, “It’s always the ones you suspect the least,” 

This only makes Jeno laugh harder. He walks over to the bed of the truck, opening up the back and gesturing for Jaemin to climb up first. He’s pleased to find blankets laid out. Jeno throws his backpack in, getting in after it. 

“I brought some food, and more blankets incase we got cold,” 

Jaemin shuffles closer to him, “You really thought this out, huh?”

Jeno smiles nervously, his cheeks colouring pink, “I don’t usually do things like this, I wanted to make sure it was perfect,” 

Jaemin tilts his head, “ _Things like this?_ Like dating?” 

He nods, meeting Jaemin’s eyes. 

“I find that hard to believe,” Jaemin says. There’s _no way_ someone who looks like Jeno doesn’t date around. An opportunity wasted. 

He smiles bashfully, like he isn’t aware of how beautiful he is. “Life gets busy, finding time for a personal life is hard,” 

_Tell me about it,_ Jaemin wants to say. It’s not like being Adonis is expanding his social circle. Although, he has gotten to know a lot of the city’s heroes on a personal level.

“I’m relatively new to this too,” Jaemin says, “I’ve only ever had one boyfriend and it was a lifetime ago,” 

This seems to reassure Jeno, he moves closer into Jaemin’s space. Their legs were touching, Jeno is warm. 

“We can learn together,” he says. 

And later, when the sun is setting, orange bleeding into dark blue, Jaemin looks over to Jeno and says, “For the record, this is perfect,” 

Jeno smiles, the orange reflecting in his eyes like a flickering flame. He wordlessly pulls one of the blankets over both their shoulders, engulfing them in warmth. 

The night darkens to obsidian, the two boys lay back against the truck bed and watch the stars. There are so many tonight, each sparkling brightly. Neither of them know any constellations, so they were content with just watching. Despite how boldly Jeno had asked Jaemin out, he realises that the boy won’t make any first moves. Jaemin has to lean in closer, he has to lay his head on the boy’s chest, and only then will Jeno wrap his arm around him. He can hear Jeno’s heartbeat rattling against his chest, he lifts himself up on his elbows to look at him. 

Jeno catches his gaze, looking back at him curiously. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks. 

“How much we don’t know about each other,” 

Jeno sits up enough to look at him properly, “What would you like to know?” 

Jaemin shrugs, “I dunno–– what’s your favourite colour?” 

Jeno lifts an eyebrow, “Seriously? I was expecting you to ask me for a secret, not this,”

“Secrets come later,” Jaemin says, “This is more important,” 

“Blue,” 

“Blue? _Boring_ ,” 

Jeno glares at him playfully, “What’s yours then?” 

Jaemin grins as he replies, “Pink,” 

“That’s equally as boring,” 

“Nuh-uh,” Jaemin says, oh so maturely. “It used to be red, but then I started associating it with blood too much,” 

“Do you get squeamish at the sight of blood?” Jeno asks. 

He thinks of Mark. All those nights his best friend has come home stained with blood, sometimes from his nose, sometimes from his body, sometimes the blood wasn’t even his own. 

“Something like that,” 

“Okay, next question,” Jeno says, “Favourite season?”

“Summer,” Jaemin answers immediately, “I’m an august baby, I was basically born on the beach,” 

“That’s cute,” Jeno says, like it has no effect on Jaemin at all, “Mine is winter, I love the cold,” 

Jaemin scrunches his nose up, he _hates_ the cold. If it were up to him, he’d hibernate all winter long. 

“We’re polar opposites, you and I,” Jaemin informs him. 

“You know what they say about opposites,” 

Jaemin giggles, “You are so corny,” 

Jeno’s expression is unapologetic, his eyes filling up with mirth. Jaemin could stare at them for hours and never get bored. 

“My turn,” Jaemin says, “When was your first kiss?” 

Jeno groans, leaning his head back as he cringes, “It was in middle school and we both had braces, it was awful,” 

Jaemin has to suppress his laughter, “Your turn,” he says, satisfied with the answer. 

Jeno meets his eyes, and Jaemin can see the exact moment his expression changes. Watching Jaemin with an intense sort of curiosity.

“Have you ever been in love?” 

Jaemin swallows, “Once,”

“What happened?” 

“It’s not your turn,” Jaemin chastises, but he answers anyway, “It wasn’t our time,” 

Jeno nods, accepting this answer. He gestures for Jaemin to go. 

“Have _you_ ever been in love?” 

“Never,” Jeno says, “No one’s stuck around long enough,” 

Their eyes never leave each other, Jaemin feels like he could memorise every detail of the other boy’s face. _I’ll stick around,_ he wants to say. But maybe it was too soon. 

Jeno opens his mouth to ask another question, but Jaemin cuts him off. 

“I get another turn,” 

“Ask away,” 

His eyes trail down Jeno’s face, to his lips. They’re parted slightly as Jeno breathes through his mouth. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” 

Jeno’s eyes widen, like he isn’t expecting it. And honestly, how could he not?

Jaemin watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, “I do,” 

“Then what are you waiting for?” 

Their first kiss is slow. Both of them lean in at the same time, meeting in the middle. Jaemin parts his lips and let’s Jeno lock them together, letting out content hum when he does. Jaemin is completely enthralled with the way the other boy moves, the feeling of lips on his, the way Jeno tilts his head to deepen it. Their position is uncomfortable, Jaemin leans forward, urging Jeno to lie back. He places the hand on Jeno’s chest, laying halfway on top of him as he kisses him slowly. Cherishing each move, each breath taken, each sound made. He pulls away, opening his eyes to look at Jeno. He’s staring up at Jaemin through half-lidded eyes, and he looks so pretty when he’s soaked in the moonlight. His hands burning hot from their place on Jaemin’s skin. 

Jaemin leans in again and presses a short kiss to the corner of Jeno’s mouth. Another to his jaw bone. He lays down, resting his head back on Jeno’s chest, his heartbeat is thundering now. He feels Jeno lean downwards and kiss the top of his head. Jaemin closes his eyes, trying to hide his face in the crevice of Jeno’s neck. The boy’s entire body vibrates as he laughs. 

Jaemin could live in the moment forever. 

Two days later, a knock comes to Jaemin’s door. It’s two in the morning and Jaemin is up finishing an assignment. He halts his typing when he hears the knocking. It’s not unusual for Mark to come over in the late hours, either because of a mission or pure boredom, but since when does he use the _door?_ The person knocks again, and it’s more frantic this time. Jaemin stands from the couch and goes to the kitchen, grabbing his biggest knife. He’s probably just being paranoid, but one can never be too careful. If Mark were here, he would nod in approval–– or pull out his swords. 

Nothing, not even years of mishaps, nasty surprises and the general unpredictability of his job, could have prepared Jaemin for what he sees when he opens the door. 

Mage, decked out in his usual suit right down to the hat and the lacey mask that adorned his face, is standing at Jaemin’s door. Standing is putting it too nicely, he’s almost hunched over, hands clutching at his stomach. He coughs a few times. There’s blood _everywhere,_ on his hands, his clothes, the dip of his neck. It’s hard to tell where it begins and where it ends. Jaemin can do nothing but watch in frozen shock. 

Then, Mage looks up at Jaemin, and leans against the door frame.

 _“Jaemin,”_ he breathes out, weakly. 

That’s when Jaemin’s survival instincts kick in, every alarm in his body going off. He raises his kitchen knife in a defensive position, he may not fight bad guys every night like Mark, but he sure as hell knew how to defend himself. 

“How the fuck do you know my name?” he growls out. He’s suddenly unsure if the blood Mage is covered in is real, maybe it’s an illusion. 

“Wait,” Mage says, he releases a trembling hand from his stomach, the fabric there is wet with crimson. Jaemin’s phone is on the coffee table, he thinks if he runs he could get to it and call Mark. It was doubtful that Mage could get to him in his weakened state. Before Jaemin could put his plan into action, Mage brings his bloody hand up to grasp the corner of his mask, and pulls it off. 

His eye is swollen, turning an unpleasant shade of purple, his lip is split too, blood drying at the corners of his mouth. He’s beaten and bruised but his face is one that Jaemin can recognise anywhere.

_“Jeno?”_

Before the shock can settle in, before the other boy can even explain himself, he collapses into Jaemin’s arms. 


	2. But I wore his jacket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a boy bleeding to death on Jaemin's couch.
> 
> (Or, the chapter where Mage is hurt, and Mark and Jaemin discover a few secrets)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIII sorry for posting chapter one and then dipping for three months <3 in my defence, i have no concept of time. 
> 
> enjoy chapter 2! here is a [playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/76JoYfjlnDArOATrcBrvS6?si=sOXE25ruQqiWsMOfKTFSJg)
> 
> there are a few descriptions of mage's wound, along with blood and the typical superhero violence. please be wary when reading this!
> 
> also disclaimer: i have no knowledge of how wounds and medical stuff works so don't fact check me <3

There’s a boy bleeding to death on Jaemin’s couch. 

He lays still, head propped up against pillows that Jaemin brought in from his room. His skin is pale, his body unmoving. The only sign of life is the rise and fall of his chest. There’s crimson seeping into the already unpleasant brown fabric of the couch. Jaemin can do nothing but watch as the stain gets bigger and bigger, almost mesmerised as he holds his phone to his ear, waiting for Mark to pick up.

“Hello?” a sleepy voice croaks out on the other line.

 _“Mark,”_ Jaemin says desperately. He winces at how his voice breaks, at how weak he sounds.

“Jaemin? Are you okay?” 

Mark’s voice turns frantic, more awake now. It eases some of the heaviness residing in Jaemin’s chest.

“No.” he says, “Can you come over? It’s urgent,” 

He hears shuffling on the other line, “Are you hurt?” 

“No, no, I’m not hurt, but— there’s— I’ll explain when you get here, please hurry,” 

Jaemin hangs up and the phone almost slips from his grasp. His hands are trembling, stained red with blood. 

He can’t take his eyes off the boy on his couch. He’s already done what he can to stabilize his injuries. Jaemin is not a medical professional, but he’s had to learn the basics. It comes with being Adonis. He cut the tight leather of the boy’s suit off with a pair of kitchen scissors, allowing for the wound to breathe. He cleaned it up enough to avoid infection, but no matter what he did, the bleeding wouldn’t stop. 

Jaemin cleaned the wounds on his face too, the split lip and the bruised eyes. All while pretending the face wasn’t a familiar one, all while swallowing the bile that threatened to rise up his throat. 

Mark has always been better than him at healing wounds. The hero patches up his own, sewing in stitches with a steady hand, gritting his teeth and bearing the pain. 

Jaemin rips his eyes away from the boy, staring won’t help. Nothing he can do right now will help. The entire apartment reeks of blood–– tangy and metallic, making his eyes water. His home feels tainted, filthy. He itches with the urge to scrub down the entire place with bleach. 

He heads over to the kitchen, turning on the sink tap and running his hands under the water. This is the one thing he can control right now. He rubs desperately at the blood on his hands, slathering them in soap and watching the water run red. He scrubs until his hands are raw.

Everything will be okay. Mark will get here soon.

“This is Mage?”

“Yup.”

“He’s also the boy you’ve been seeing?” 

A sigh, “Yup.”

“And you _want me_ to save his life?” 

_“Mark.”_

“Okay, okay,” Mark relents, kneeling at the edge of the couch. A very intricate first aid kit, filled with medical equipment and medicine that they illegally acquired, lays open next to him. Mark observes Mage— Jeno, according to Jaemin— carefully. His eyes are closed, long eyelashes falling over. His face is relaxed, defined cheekbones and a sharp jaw. Mark can’t believe he’s looking at the face of his enemy— and he looks so normal? Innocent, even. It’s unnerving. 

Mark has found the underbelly of the dragon. Bare and vulnerable, completely at his mercy. His enemy is hanging onto life by a string, and yet he still feels like he’s the one losing. 

“It would be so easy to just let him die,” he says, looking back up at Jaemin.

Jaemin crosses his arms, “So _now_ killing is okay?”

Mark sighs, eyes travelling over the boy’s torso, a piece of cloth wrapped over his wound. Jaemin had put it there earlier. He can joke about it, but he really doesn’t have it in him. 

His fingers carefully uncover the cloth. It’s soaked through with blood. He hears Jaemin gag somewhere behind him.

The wound is ugly, a palette of ghastly colours disrupting the smooth skin of Mage’s torso. Mark frowns, something is off. 

“This wound is too deep,” he says, “He shouldn’t be alive,” 

Mark tries to get a closer look at it. He digs through the kit for a magnifying glass— it’s the best they can do right now. Mark is a philosophy major, not a doctor. 

“Jaemin, come take a look at this,” 

“I’d rather not,” Jaemin replies, sounding utterly grossed out. 

Mark gives him a look, he sighs and walks over, kneeling next to Mark on the floor.

“What am I looking at?” 

There’s a border of purple surrounding the wound, it’s unlike the wine coloured bruising that was usual for fatal injuries. It was a lighter colour, seemingly glowing around the wound like a halo of violet. Mystical and shimmering, _completely_ unnatural— much like Mage himself. 

“His magic is keeping him alive,” 

“His magic still works in this state?” Jaemin questions. 

“It must be a survival instinct, I think he’s magically healing,” 

They’re both quiet for a moment. Staring at Mage in disbelief. Did he have any limits? 

“So, what do we do?” 

“I can stitch him up,” Mark says, “And hope his body figures out the rest,” 

Jaemin shrugs, “It’s good enough for me,” 

Despite his distaste for the dying boy, Mark is careful with stitching him up. Mage’s skin burns to the touch, he dips the washcloth in cold water to clean the wound up again. His hands are steady as he seams the needle through Mage’s skin. When he’s satisfied with his work, he cuts the end of the surgical thread and covers the injury with fresh bandages. 

“All done,” Mark says, smoothing the bandages down. 

He turns back to Jaemin. He’s sitting on the single couch, arms wrapped around his own body, sort of curled into himself. There’s something off with him, too. When Mark arrived at his doorstep he was frantic, talking too fast and on the verge of tears. Mark had to calm him down before getting him to explain what was going on. It was scary, he’s never seen Jaemin like that. He’s usually so put together in high stress situations, it’s what makes him the perfect Adonis.

“Are you okay?”

Jaemin sighs, his eyes never leaving Mage. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” 

Mark gestures to the boy sleeping on the couch. 

“Don’t you think I deserve an explanation?” 

Jaemin moves his hands away from himself, instead gripping tightly at his shirtsleeves. 

“I told you. He showed up at my doorstep and passed out,” 

“Yes, but how did he—”

“ _Mark,”_ Jaemin snipes, “I said I don’t want to talk about it,” 

“Fine,” he says giving up, “It’s not like I saved my enemy’s life for you or anything,”

Jaemin rolls his eyes and stands up from the couch, “I’m going to make some tea, want some?”

Jaemin doesn’t like tea, he’s only trying to give himself something to do. Mark nods. He doesn’t like tea either. 

The apartment is quiet. Dishes clatter while Jaemin makes himself busy in the kitchen, Mark packs away the first aid kit. It’s so quiet that you can hear a pin drop against the hardwood floor. It’s so quiet that the shuddering gasp Mage lets out when he wakes up echoes like thunder. 

He shoots up, gripping onto his stomach and breathing heavily. He winces, leaning back down, eyes trained towards the ceiling like a deer caught in headlights. 

Mark gets up, eyeing the boy carefully. He’s unsure of what to do, does he reach for his sword or the first aid kit? 

Mage looks down at his bandages first, fingers grazing at them curiously. Then he looks around the room, recognition settling into his expression. Finally, he looks at Mark, eyes darkening into the black that Mark was so familiar with. 

“Archangel,” he says. His voice is raw with disuse but the disdain is all the same. 

Mark pauses, looking back down at his attire. He came over in sweatpants and an old shirt, face bare from any disguise. 

“You know my real identity?” 

Mage chuckles. He sits up, wincing as he does so. Despite the fact that he’d been on his deathbed barely an hour ago, he looks smug. Mark wishes he let him die. 

“Mark Angel Lee, right?” he teases. Mark rolls his eyes. “I like to keep tabs on my enemies.”

“That means you know that I’m Adonis,” comes Jaemin’s voice from behind Mark. 

Jeno’s eyes flicker upwards, past Mark to stare at the boy who just entered the living room. There’s something indecipherable in his expression. Mark turns back to watch Jaemin, hurt is written all over his expression. 

“That’s how you knew where to find Mark every single time,” he says, all the truths from tonight were settling it, “but how did you—” his eyes widen, “—you tapped my phone when you asked for my number.” 

Mage says nothing, he only stares. Jaemin’s expression turns cold. It may look deadly but Mark can see the flame burning behind it, he’s upset, angry. But he’s staring at Mage like he doesn’t know who he is. 

It’s quiet, and then:

“Fuck you, Jeno,” he spits. Turning and storming into his bedroom, the walls rattle as he slams the door. 

“Jeno,” Mark tries the name on his tongue. It feels unfamiliar, unwelcome. 

Mage moves to sit up properly, he moves his legs off the couch and plants it on the ground. He hunches over himself in pain from moving too quickly. 

“Don’t call me that,” he grits out. 

“Jeno,” Mark says again, just to be annoying, “What do you think you’re doing?” 

He looks up at Mark, raising his eyebrow at him like he’s stupid, “I’m standing up,” 

“Like hell you are,” Mark replies, crossing his arms. 

He watches the closed door, worry flashing in his eyes, disappearing as quickly as it comes, “Jaemin’s upset,” 

This makes something flare up inside Mark. Who is he to be concerned about Jaemin? Not when he created this mess. 

“And you think you can make it better?” Mark asks, voice edging on a taunt, “Yeah, I’m _sure_ Jaemin wants to hear from the guy who’s done nothing but lie to him. Sit your ass back down before your stitches rip or I’ll rip them out myself.” 

Jeno glowers at him, but does what he’s told anyway. He lays back down with a huff. 

Mark casts a worried glance towards the closed door, he’ll check on Jaemin later. He needs some time alone first. 

“So,” Mark begins, taking a seat on the coffee table, “Start talking,”

“I have nothing to say,” 

“You’re kidding,” Mark says, voice coated in disbelief, “You show up half dead on Jaemin’s doorstep and you have nothing to say?” 

Mage shrugs, flashing Mark a grin. It’s weak, but it’s still so damn annoying. 

“Pretty much.” 

“I saved your life, you know,” Mark says. Technically, Mage saved his own life with his magical healing, but he doesn’t need to know that, “Do you know how tempting it was to let you die?” 

“I wish you did,” Mage replies, “So I don’t have to deal with you pestering me,” 

Mark rolls his eyes, “Very mature, now start talking,” 

“Try as you might,” Mage says, crossing his arms stubbornly, “You’re not getting anything from me,” 

Mark sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose. 

“You’re the one who came to us for help,” Mark says, “At least tell me who did this to you,” 

“I went to _Jaemin_ for help,” 

Mark raises an eyebrow, “And you seriously didn’t think he would call me?” 

Mage’s gaze hardens, he watches Mark wordlessly without saying a word. 

“Who did this to you?” Mark tries again, voice quieter. 

His jaw clenches, like it’s taking everything in him to answer. He averts his eyes from Mark’s gaze and says, 

“Doyoung,” 

_“Doyoung Kim?”_ Mark repeats, “Why would Doyoung want you dead?”

Mage raises an eyebrow at him like it should be obvious. 

The realisation dawns on him, “That serum you stole,” 

“Bingo,” Mage replies dryly. 

The leader of VENOM and the biggest villain in this city have beef. That’s just wonderful for Mark. 

“What is it about this damn serum that makes him want it so badly,” Mark mutters, more to himself than anything. 

Mage answers him anyway, “It creates people like me,” 

Mark turns his head to him, meeting Mage’s eyes, “What?”

The other boy sighs. He moves to pull something out of the pocket of his leather pants, wincing at the motion. The test tube filled with purple glints under the yellow living room lights. Of course he still has it. He nearly died protecting it, Mark realises, it must be something important to him. 

“My powers aren’t natural,” Mage explains, eyes never leaving the serum, “They were injected into me when I was a baby,” 

Mark’s eyebrows furrow. He and Jaemin have always wondered about Mage. The extent of his powers has always been something they couldn’t crack. It’s always been a mystery. Mark is finally getting his answers, but he couldn’t even revel in them, not when Mage looks like this. Pale and weak. Bleeding through his bandages. It’s not as satisfying getting his answers from a dying boy. 

“This serum is a replica of the same one that was injected into me,” Mage continues, “Doyoung must have found out about it,” 

“How do _you_ know about it?” Mark asks, suspicious. 

Mage shrugs, “I keep up with the scientists at STAR labs. Dr. Lee is a friend of mine,” 

That’s news to Mark. He narrows his eyes, “ _A friend?”_ he asks skeptically. There’s no way Taeyong keeps villain friends around. But then again, Taeyong’s work has always been a mystery to Mark. 

Mage nods. 

“You said you didn’t know what the serum did,” 

“I lied,” 

“Of course you did,” Mark accuses, “Because all you do is lie and manipulate, how do I know you aren’t lying now?” 

Mage raises his eyes to stare at Mark, his expression remains stubborn but he looks utterly defeated, hand clenched around his bandages like he’s afraid his wounds will open up again. 

Quietly, he says, “Look at me, Mark,” 

Mark hates the way his real name sounds coming from Mage’s tongue, softer than the usual way he’d spit out the nickname _‘Angel’_. Mark looks at him anyway. 

“Do you think I’m in the condition to benefit from lying?” 

_Yes._ Mark wants to say. _I think someone could slit your throat and you’d still choke out a lie._ But Mage’s eyes are boring into him. He’s too prideful to plead, but the way he’s looking at Mark–– it’s the closest he’ll ever come to begging. 

There’s still something missing from Mage’s story, it seems incomplete, pieces of the puzzle still missing. 

Regardless, Mark grits out, 

“Fine. I believe you.” 

Mage slumps backwards, as if relieved, leaning his head against the back of the couch. Mark belatedly realises that he is still shirtless. The soft skin of his chest and sharp lines of his collarbone are all out on display. As much as Mark hates to admit it, he looks good–– well built. The usual leather that adorns his body serves him little justice, but Mark always had a feeling that Mage was attractive. He stops his line of thought right there. This is _Mage_ , his _enemy_ , that his brain is traitorously thirsting over. Mark grabs the fresh shirt from the coffee table that Jaemin laid out earlier and tosses it at Mage. He catches the shirt, winking at Mark before he slowly pulls it over his head. 

“Doyoung is relentless,” Mage says once he’s fully clothed. He twirls the test tube around his fingers like it isn’t something fragile, “He won’t stop coming for me until he has the serum,”

“There’s no way in hell you can let him get it,” Mark says, “Doyoung is dangerous enough without magical powers,” 

“Way to point out the obvious,” Mage mutters. Mark scowls, he grins, “We need a plan,” 

“We?”

“You’re involved now,” Mage declares.

“Says who?”

“Says my blood on your hands.” Mage tilting his chin upward, like he’s challenging Mark to disagree. 

Mark looks down at his hands, sure enough, Mage’s blood is drying on his hands. He never washed it off after tending to the other boy’s wound. 

“Besides,” Mage says, “Doyoung isn’t just a threat to me, he’s a threat to the city. This concerns Archangel, too,” 

Mark would never say this to his face, not even if he was held at gunpoint, but Mage is right. Infuriating and manipulative, but right regardless. He’s never heard Mage call anyone a threat, he barely even considered Archangel a threat, a slight inconvenience at most. So to see him be this rattled over Doyoung–– an enemy the two of them strangely have in common–– it makes the warning signs inside Mark go off. Hero instincts. 

“I’ll help you,” Mark says, “but I won’t be happy about it,”

Mage’s grin widens, baring his snakelike fangs at Mark, they glisten. Mark knows instantly that he’s made a mistake. 

Archangel and Mage working together, what a disaster this will be. 

He stands up, “Get some rest, we’ll come up with a plan in the morning,” 

Mark takes a pair of handcuffs out of his hoodie pocket, he circles his fingers around Mage’s wrist, shackling his hands together.

Mage raises a brow at him, “You know I could easily get out of these right?” 

“And do what?” Mark challenges, “Run away and bleed to death on the street?”

“Maybe,” Mage replies, mischief sparkling in his eyes. 

“I’m just being cautious,” Mark says, pulling on the handcuffs to ensure they’re tight enough, “I don’t trust you, in case you couldn’t tell,” 

He playfully pouts, “And here I thought we were becoming besties,” 

“Shut up or I’ll gag you too,” Mark snaps. 

The corners of his mouth curl upward, “Kinky.” 

Mark chooses not to grace him with a response and flips him off instead. He turns, leaving for the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands, Mage’s laughter trails after him. 

Jaemin’s room is dark when Mark walks in. He’s sitting on the bed, legs pulled up, chin resting on his knees. Staring at one of the scented candles he lit up, the orange flame seems to have him under a spell. It casts a dull glow across the room and paints shadows across the wall. Mark sits on the bed next to him, the dip of the mattress breaks Jaemin out his trance. He looks at Mark, his eyes are the brightest thing in this room, even brighter than the burning flame. 

“Are you okay?” 

Jaemin shakes his head. He says nothing yet, uncurling his body and stretching his legs out. He leans back on his hands, staring at Mark like he’s daring him.

“Go ahead,” Jaemin says, “Say it,” 

“Say what?” 

“ _I told you so,”_ Jaemin says bitterly, “You told me to be cautious around Jeno and I didn’t listen. You have every right to be smug,” 

“You think I’m smug right now?” Mark says in disbelief, “There’s no way in _hell_ that I could’ve predicted this. I was just being jealous, like you said.” 

Jaemin considers this. He lets out a long, shuddering breath. “I feel like an idiot,” 

“You’re not,” Mark insists, he moves closer to Jaemin, pushing strands of hair out his eyes. His eyes are red, he’s been crying. Mark could kill Mage for this. He wishes he did, he could go back into the living room and finish what Doyoung started. But Jaemin would hate that, so he stays glued to his spot. He pulls his sleeve past his hands and uses it to dry Jaemin’s damp cheeks. “No more shedding tears for evil boys.” 

Jaemin scoffs, pushing Mark’s hand away. He hates it when people point out that he’s been crying. Jaemin thinks his sensitivity is his worst trait, Mark thinks it’s his best. 

“I hate him,” Jaemin mutters. 

“Get in line,” Mark replies, “You should get some sleep, it’s been a long night,” 

Jaemin nods, he moves his hand to hold Mark’s wrist, pulling at it slightly. 

“Will you stay?” 

“Of course,” Mark answers gently. 

Mark stands from the bed and blows the candles out, leaving them in complete darkness. Jaemin pulls the covers back and Mark joins him, letting the warmth of the other boy and the heavy blanket ground him. Everything is quiet save for the rustling of sheets and the distant sounds of the city. Jaemin lays on his side, staring out at the door, where Mage is just outside. Probably asleep, or awake and scheming. Mark settles just behind him, Jaemin reaches back and pulls Mark’s arms over his body. He takes the hint and spoons Jaemin, wrapping his arms around the boy’s torso. Jaemin sighs and leans back against Mark’s chest, his hair tickling Mark’s chin.

“The last person who held me like this was Jeno,” Jaemin whispers, voice brimming with melancholy, “We were in the back of his truck and I let him kiss me. Can you believe it? I let _Mage_ kiss me,”

Mark runs his hand over Jaemin’s arm until he reaches his hand. He links their hands together, rubbing his thumb over the back of Jaemin’s palm. 

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” he says. 

“No, you’re not,” Jaemin replies, tone solemn. 

“I really am this time,” Mark says, “You deserve someone who is good to you, someone better,” 

_Someone better than me._ It goes unsaid, but Mark is sure that Jaemin understands.

His grip on Mark’s hand tightens, he brings it up to his chest like he’s cradling their hands together. 

“I really liked him,” 

“I know, beloved,” Mark says sympathetically. 

Jaemin says nothing for a while, the sound of their breathing syncs up. Mark thinks he’s fallen asleep. 

“Mark?” Jaemin says, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?” 

“Tell me that everything will be okay,” 

Mark thinks of Mage in the other room, he thinks of the bloodstains on Jaemin’s carpet. He thinks of the mess they’ve made. He leans in and presses a kiss to Jaemin’s shoulder blade. 

“Everything will be okay.” 

He believes it, too. They’ve survived worse. 

When Jaemin wakes up, he’s engulfed in warmth. Sometime throughout the night, Mark had shifted until he was fully on top of Jaemin. Mark’s legs are thrown over his, he’s hugging Jaemin like he’s a teddy bear, head buried into Jaemin’s neck. Shallow breaths tickling the skin there. He’s covered in a thin layer of sweat from the excess body heat, Mark ran too damn hot. 

Jaemin tries to pull away, but the boy only tightens his grip, a soft whine leaving him in his unconscious state. Jaemin sighs, relenting and leaning back against the pillows. He runs a hand through Mark’s soft hair. Despite his clinginess, Jaemin is glad he stayed the entire night. He isn’t sure that he could deal with Mage alone. 

Mark looks so peaceful when he’s asleep, his worry lines disappear. With his eyes closed, Jaemin couldn’t see the anger and hurt behind them. He’s unsure if it’s the cause of being Archangel or if Mark’s eyes have always been that way, but there’s something broken about them. A thin fracture within the depths of all the brown, like the cracks in a crater, revealing the lava underneath. Despite Mark’s cheerfulness and happy moments, it always lingered. Jaemin wonders if Mark notices it too, or maybe he was too used to being broken to realise there’s something wrong. 

He carefully pulls away from Mark’s embrace, trying to be as quiet as possible. Mark deserves to sleep for a little longer. 

Jaemin goes to the bathroom first, not ready to face what is lurking outside in his living room quite yet. He stares at his reflection in the mirror for longer than he’s proud of. His face is puffy and his eyes are swollen— he looks so _pathetic._ Crying over a boy like he’s still in high school. Like he’s still that scared little boy he once was. He blinks. Brown eyes rimmed with red. Does he look broken too? What does Mark see when he looks at him? The burden of a hero is a heavy one to bear, at least he has Mark to share the weight with. 

He briefly wonders if Jeno has anyone to share it with, then pushes the thought down like it’s bile rising up his throat. 

He turns the tap on and begins washing his face, at least his hands have stopped shaking. 

Jeno is awake when Jaemin enters the living room. He looks like he hasn’t slept. _Good,_ Jaemin thinks, _suffer a little bit._

He ignores Jeno, walking straight past him and heading for the kitchen instead. He can feel Jeno’s gaze on him though, trying to scorch it’s way through Jaemin’s skull. He refuses to give in. He makes two cups of coffee, one for him and one for Mark. 

The room is thick with tension, Jaemin can hear it buzzing in his ears like static. He wishes he woke Mark up now, at least he could watch them bicker rather than have to talk to Jeno. 

He places his mug on the kitchen counter, the blood on his carpet seems much brighter in the daylight, as does the stain on his couch. He probably has to throw it out. Shame, he likes that couch. His eyes meet Jeno’s, the boy’s expression is completely unreadable. Might as well bite the bullet. Jaemin walks back into the living room.

The first thing he notices is that Jeno is in handcuffs, the second is that he’s bleeding through his shirt. 

Jaemin snorts, “Mark actually put you in handcuffs,” 

Jeno sits upright on the couch when Jaemin arrives, perking up like a puppy. Jaemin takes the seat next to him and opens up the first aid kit that lay abandoned on the floor. 

“Wanna see a magic trick?” Jeno asks. He doesn’t wait for Jaemin’s answer, holding his hands out in front of him as his hands glow purple. He phases out of his handcuffs, hands moving through the solid metal easily, they fall to the floor. 

“Impressive,” Jaemin says dryly, he gestures at Jeno’s torso, “Lift your shirt so I can clean your wound,” 

Jeno obliges, lifting his shirt to reveal his blood-soaked bandages. “Technically, this is your shirt,” he says, Jaemin ignores him and moves to peel the bandages off, bracing himself for the gore-fest he was about to witness. Jeno continues, “It is yours, right? It smells like you,” 

Jaemin pauses, pulling away from Jeno’s skin like it burns him.

“What game are you playing here?” he snaps.

Jeno furrows his eyebrows, “I’m not—”

“You don’t get to flirt with me right now, you don’t even get to talk to me.” 

Jeno looks like he wants to reply, but he doesn’t. He leans back and lets Jaemin remove the rest of his bandages. The purple glow is still there, whatever healing powers Jeno had, they were extremely slow because his wound still looks deadly. A couple stitches opened up throughout the night, hence the fresh blood. Jaemin stands and returns to the kitchen, grabbing a fresh cloth and a bowl of warm water. 

He places the water bowl on the coffee table and takes his seat. Dipping the cloth in the water, squeezing it and then dabbing it on Jeno’s skin. The blood comes off easily. Jeno watches him carefully the entire time. 

“I was never faking it,” Jeno says. 

Jaemin refuses to look at the boy, keeping his attention focused on the wound. 

“At first I wanted to use you to get to Archangel, he unnerves me and I needed leverage,” Jeno says. _What a horrible thing to say,_ Jaemin thinks, hands beginning to tremble. _Leverage, that’s all he is._

“But then I actually got to know you and— I never lied about my feelings, Jaemin. Everything I told you on our date was true. I genuinely do like you,” 

Jaemin snaps his head up. His veins ignite with anger. _How dare he._

“You’ve tried to kill my best friend countless times, you’re a villain and a _murderer._ ” Jaemin snarls out, “You can’t seriously think I still like you after finding out who you really are,”

Jeno has the audacity to look hurt. It flashes in his eyes before being replaced with something darker. Black eyes staring into a light brown. Void of any feeling, Jeno isn’t wearing his mask nor his costume, but he’s never looked more like the Mage. 

He says nothing. No snarky remark, no baring his teeth or lashing out with something equally as hurtful. Just silent defeat as he allows Jaemin to finish fixing up his wound. 

When Mark wakes up, the entire apartment hears it, because he throws the door to Jaemin’s room open, effectively making the walls shake. His hair is sticking up in different angles and his eyes are red. Looking like he only woke up mere seconds ago. He’s holding Jaemin’s phone in his hands and staring directly at Jeno with widened eyes. Jaemin watches from the barstool in the kitchen, over his cup of coffee. 

“You bugged Jaemin’s phone,” Mark says, holding the phone out. 

Jeno’s eyes flickered towards Jaemin something like guilt flashes for a split second before he looks back at Mark, “Yeah? Didn’t you figure this out yesterday?” 

“You bugged Jaemin’s phone,” Mark repeats, marching over to Jeno, “Do you know how Doyoung found you?”

Jeno wrinkles his nose, “Did you even brush your teeth?” 

“Mage, I’m being serious,” 

“Well, Angel, it’s hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing _Hello Kitty_ pyjama bottoms.” 

Mark’s glare in response is deadly, Jaemin hides his smile behind his coffee mug.

Jeno sighs, relenting, “I don’t know how Doyoung found me, I was on my way to find one of the men on the Senator’s list when—” his eyes widen, he pulls his own phone out of his pocket, “Bastard bugged my phone,” 

“Took you long enough,” Mark mutters.

Jeno stares at his phone like it betrayed him, “How did he even _get_ to my phone?”

Jaemin snorts, karma is so sweet sometimes, “Give anyone your number lately?”

Jeno’s glare directed towards him is more satisfying then it should be. Jaemin now understands why Mark loves to push his buttons. 

“He knows I’m still alive,” Jeno says, still looking at Jaemin, “You can get rid of the chip, right, Adonis?” 

His tone is slightly taunting. Jaemin opens his mouth to refuse. 

“No,” Mark says, before Jaemin can get a word out, “Leave it in, we can lure Doyoung to us,”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Jeno replies. 

“It’s the best we have,” Mark insists, “We can capture him,”

“And then what?” Jeno says, giving a dry laugh, “Hand him over to the _police?_ ”

Mark clenches his jaw, “Do you have a better idea, then?”

Jeno shrugs, “We kill him,”

“You want to kill the most influential criminal in the city?” Jaemin asks incredulously. Mark filled him in on all things Jeno-slash-Mage the night before. 

“He tried to kill me first,” Jeno replies petulantly, crossing his arms.

“Killing him won’t solve anything,” Mark says.

“Neither will capturing him,” Jeno shoots back. 

“Why don’t we just destroy the serum?” Jaemin offers. 

Their argument halts, they both turn to look at him. 

“We cut the problem off from its root, if we destroy it Doyoung has no reason to come for us,” 

“Unless he kills us for destroying it,’ Jeno mutters. 

“It’s the best plan we have so far,” Mark says. 

Jeno sighs, he looks back at Jaemin, “Yeah it is, I just wish I came up with it first,” 

“Jaemin will always be the smartest one in the room,” Mark says, sounding fond. Jaemin looks away from both of them, choosing to watch the remains of his coffee instead. His ears burn and he can feel Jeno’s stare lingering on him. 

“New plan,” Mark says, clapping his hands together, “Jaemin, you remove the chip from Mage’s phone, and then we get rid of the serum,” 

“How exactly do we do that?” Jaemin says, eyeing the test tube that was just laying on the coffee table, the purple glow similar to the one that shone from Jeno’s wound. He held back a shudder, _eerie._

Mark shrugs, “We can pour it down the sink, or something,”

“You want to pour something containing dangerous magical powers _down a sink?”_ Jaemin asks. 

He watches as Jeno pulls the enclosed test tube back out of his pocket, shaking it slightly. The contents move up and down slowly like the inside of a lava lamp. He wonders how something so small can create something as deadly as Mage is. 

“That’s going to destroy my plumbing system for sure,” Jaemin comments. 

Jeno snorts.

“Maybe we can take it back to the lab,” Mark suggests, “And ask Taeyong to destroy it,” 

“Dr. Lee isn’t going to destroy his life’s work,” Jeno cuts in, then he pauses, watching the test tube in contemplation, “I could _convince_ him,” 

Mark stands and snatches the test tube from Jeno, “You are not threatening Taeyong, he’s nice. I’ll ask.”

Jeno huffs and stands up as well, his movements are more careful, “Fine, but if he doesn’t comply, the claws are coming out,” he faces Jaemin and tilts his head, “Can I use the bathroom? I’m kind of sick of being covered in blood,” 

Jaemin points in the direction of the bathroom, “There’s spare towels in the hallway closet and I can uh––” he feels himself warming up despite there being any reason to, “lay out some clothes for you,” 

Jeno winks at him before leaving, “Sounds good.” 

When he’s gone, Mark goes to the kitchen and greets Jaemin with a soft smile. 

“Morning,” Jaemin says quietly, “I made you coffee,” 

“Thanks,” Mark replies, taking the extra cup next to him, “How are you feeling?” 

“Fine,” Jaemin mutters, embarrassment curls up inside him. He was so vulnerable last night and he hates himself for it. But then again, Mark has seen him at his worst countless other times.

Mark brings a hand to his shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Jaemin runs his fingers over Mark’s hand, returning his smile. He hands Jeno’s phone to Jaemin.

“You can take the chip out, right?”

“Course I can,” Jaemin says. Jeno’s phone is heavy in his hands as he turns it over. It almost feels wrong to have it in his possession. 

They begin working in silence, Mark helps him lug some of his equipment into the kitchen and Jaemin gets started on removing the chip. The sound of the shower running and Mark humming along as he cleans up the kitchen serves as white noise. Jaemin feels something close to peace like this, despite having such a rough night, despite the ridiculous situation he’s found himself in. He enjoys fiddling with Jeno’s phone, he enjoys having Mark right there with him, he enjoys the comfortable silence. 

“It’s out,” Jaemin says, dropping the tracking chip onto the counter, it’s almost microscopic. He opens one of the kitchen drawers and pulls out a rolling pin, using it to smash the chip into tiny pieces. He smiles in satisfaction. 

Mark whistles lowly, eyebrows raising in amusement, “I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that rolling pin,” 

Jaemin only grins, “Got the job done, didn’t I?” 

“Doyoung will still find a way to track me,” comes Jeno’s voice, before either of them notice he’s there. He’s standing at the entrance to the living room, hair wet and dripping, a towel thrown over his shoulders. He’s wearing one of Jaemin’s old shirts and a pair of sweatpants, looking much more alive than he did last night. The colour is back in his face, the cuts across it are the only evidence of how badly he was hurt. 

Jaemin’s stomach churns at the sight of Jeno like this. This image of Jeno–– fresh-faced and wearing his clothes–– would have been nice if it was the morning after their second date, where Jaemin convinced Jeno to spend the night. If they were both normal and not Mage and Adonis. 

He feels himself flush at the thought, he’s being silly. 

“Then you sure as hell aren’t staying here,” Mark says, pulling Jaemin back into reality, “You’re not putting Jaemin in any more danger,” 

This makes Jaemin frown, he’s not helpless. He dealt with Jeno well enough on his own. 

“Mark, I’ll be––”

“You’ll come to my place,” Mark says, cutting him off. 

Jeno blinks, “What?” 

This catches Jaemin by surprise too, he stares at Mark wordlessly. The boy only tilts his chin up, staring unwaveringly at Jeno as he stands his ground. 

“You can’t stay here and I don’t trust you enough to leave you on your own, so you’ll stay with me,” 

Jeno presses his mouth into a thin line, “I don’t need to a babysitter,” 

Mark gestures towards his stomach, where the wound is covered by a thin layer of clothing. “Clearly you do,” 

They stare at each other, Jeno with a hard set jaw and Mark with his arms crossed. Both with unrelenting stubbornness. Jaemin wrinkles his nose, they’re both more alike than they would ever care to admit. 

Jeno raises his hand in a flourishing movement, it glows purple for a split second and suddenly, the entire room rattles as if amidst an earthquake. Jaemin grabs onto the kitchen counter to keep from falling. 

Jeno lowers his hand, the apartment stops moving. 

“I’ll come with you,” he says finally, “But even in this weakened state, I’m still more powerful than you, never forget that,” 

Mark glowers at him, “You’re so fucking dramatic,” he mutters, standing up straight and dusting himself off, “Get your shit, let’s go.” 

Before Mark can disappear through his apartment doors, Jaemin grabs hold of his wrist. Forcefully tugging on it and making the boy stay and look at him. 

“I’m not helpless,” he says firmly, his gaze burning into Mark’s. He’s staring back at Jaemin with an intensity he can’t name, he swallows down the bundle of nerves clogging his throat and continues, “I can handle Jeno on my own,” 

Mark’s eyes soften immediately, “I know,” he says, “That doesn’t stop me from being worried, though,” 

Jaemin sighs, his hand moves downwards to hold Mark’s hand tightly. He isn’t the only one that’s worried. “Just be careful, promise?” 

Mark squeezes his hand, “I promise,” 

“Hey, lovebirds,” Jeno calls from the living room, “Are you going to start making out or can we leave?” 

It’s comical how quickly Mark’s entire demeanour changes as soon as Jeno opens his mouth. He lets go of Jaemin’s hand and turns to scowl at the villain. 

“Shut the fuck up, demon.”

There’s a boy sitting on Mark’s couch. 

His feet are kicked up on the table, and he’s making his way through a box of pizza like he’s a common guest in Mark’s home. 

He’s not. 

Mark’s apartment is cheap and badly insulated, so he has to keep the heaters on all the time. He’s barely ever at his own place so a thin layer of dust covers everything. The walls are scarce of any decoration and it looks like he didn’t put any thought into the furniture–– at least, according to Mage. All he’s done since he’s arrived at Mark’s place is criticise his living space.

“Do you ever stop talking? Genuine question,” Mark asks, kicking Mage’s feet off his coffee table and feeling suddenly overprotective of his terrible apartment. 

Mage grins over his slice of pizza. He’s wearing the same sweatpants he left Jaemin’s apartment wearing, but is now changed into an oversized shirt that belongs to Mark. He claimed Jaemin’s shirt was too small for him and demanded that Mark offer him a selection of clothing since he can’t go back to his apartment for his own. (That didn’t stop him from complaining about Mark’s fashion sense, though.) It’s unbelievably strange to see Mage without his mask, let alone in casual wear. His enemy, in his clothes.

“It’s not my fault you can’t take constructive criticism,” 

Mark scowls, ripping the box of pizza away from the boy’s grasp, “Saying my wallpaper makes you want to throw up is not constructive criticism,” 

Mage only reaches for the box again, Mark places it on the table. 

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Mark says, turning to face Mage, “Don’t get comfortable. We’re not friends, you’re not a guest here,” 

“What am I then?” Mage replies, he leans in close enough for Mark to feel his breathing.. When he speaks again, it’s with a lowered voice, “Your prisoner?” 

Mark shoves him backwards, “I carry a knife on me at all times, don’t fucking test me,” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Mage replies breezily, leaning back against the couch and kicking his feet back up on the table. 

“We should talk strategy,” Mark says, “In case Doyoung finds us,” 

Mage quirks an eyebrow up at him, “Do you ever take a break, Angel?”

“Of course I do,” Mark mutters, feeling defensive all of a sudden. 

Mage looks disbelieving, “Then what do you do when you’re not Archangel?” 

“Uni and work,” Mark answers easily. 

“And, what else?” 

Mark stays quiet, he couldn’t come up with an answer even if he tried. 

Mage snorts, like this amuses him. 

“A workaholic,” he comments, “No wonder Jaemin dumped you,” 

His words are the freezing cold abyss of the ocean and Mark just got his head dunked right in. His hair is wet and his cheeks are numb. 

“What did you just say?” he says quietly. 

Mage only grins, like the shark that lurked under the inky black waters–– he’s caught a whiff of Mark’s blood and now he won’t stop circling. 

“You’re his ex, right?” Mage says, “He told me, on our _date,_ ” 

Mark stands up from the couch to put some space in between them before he does something regretful–– like kill Mage before Doyoung could even get to him. 

Mage only continues taunting, the couch creaks as he stands up. 

“Well he didn’t tell me it was you, he just mentioned an ex, but I can put two and two together,”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Mark snaps, turning around to face the boy. That’s all he was, wasn’t he? A boy. Mark’s age, a troubled kid just like him, standing in the middle of his living room and wearing clothes that are too big for him. Only, the illusion fades once Mage’s smile widens to reveal his rows and rows of his razor-sharp teeth. It’s like taking the first sip of water after being in a desert for days, his thirst is quenched and the mirage fades. Revealing the reality: Mage isn’t a boy, he’s a monster. A wolf in Mark’s clothing. 

“You’re trying to rile me up because you’re bored–– and a sociopath,” 

Mage only tilts his head, wearing an expression of feigned sympathy, but Mark knows better than to fall for it, because when he opens his mouth next, his tone is coated with pure mockery. 

“It must be hard, being in love with your ex,”

Mark grits his teeth, “I’m not––” _Not what? Not in love with Jaemin?_ He couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud, to _lie._ Not even to Mage. “I’m not defending myself to _you_ ,” he spits out instead. 

“I get it,” Mage continues, like they’re having a normal conversation, “Jaemin is great, it’s impossible not to fall for him,” 

This sets off a fire inside Mark, like a match to gasoline. “What do you want from me?” he demands, “Are you looking for a fight? Someone to punch around to ease your boredom? To feel powerful again because you almost died?” Mage’s eyes darken, the corners of Mark’s mouth turn up, “That’s it, isn’t it? The great and powerful Mage, master illusionist and terror upon the city, _weakened_ by another villain. You’re desperate to feel strong again.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mage says darkly. 

“Don’t I?” Mark says, “You’re _scared._ Like a helpless little animal. You want me to swing at you a few times so you can feel something,” he lets out a humourless laugh, “You won’t find a fight in me, Jeno,” 

He growls, something untamed and broken, “I told you not to call me that,” 

Mark shrugs, “Jaemin calls you that–– oh well, he _did_ , before he dumped your sorry ass,” 

That’s what sets it off. Mage is quick, swinging his fist at Mark. But he’s also weak–– the slow healing wound on his stomach weighing him down like an anchor–– so Mark is quicker. He dodges it just in time. 

He can’t suppress the chuckle that comes out of him, “Maybe you should get some rest,” he says, “You don’t want to pull your stitches.” 

He turns his back to Mage, leaving him on his own in the living room. Mage could leave if he wanted to, at any time, but he never did. Which is how he knows that Mage needs Mark.

The window in the kitchen leads to the fire escape, Mark pulls it all the way up and climbs through, he needs some air. 

The wind is especially harsh this evening, howling lowly as it shook the trees. Mark sits on the steps of the fire escape, watching the city below his feet. It’s terrifying, yet he can’t look away. He shivers against the cold air, goosebumps forming on his arm. He wraps his arms around himself, it’s so peaceful up here. A sweet but short break during the fast-paced and never-ending drama that was Mark’s life. The city sounds are a welcome reminder that he isn’t alone, the buzzing of his phone is another. He pulls it out of his pocket, a missed call from Jaemin. The boy asked him for hourly updates to ensure they were okay. Jaemin isn’t a fan of sitting on his hands and doing nothing. Mark’s finger hovers over Jaemin’s name in his call log, it’s been a long day, it’ll be good to talk. 

Instead, he scrolls down, hitting call on a different name. 

“Mark Lee!” a surprised voice floods in through the phone speakers, “Is it really you? I’m not hallucinating?” 

Mark laughs, the familiar voice calming him down immediately, “Hey Johnny hyung, yeah, it’s me,” 

Johnny Suh, or as the city calls him, Phantasm–– _fucking Phatanasm,_ Mark would say, because out of every unreal thing that’s happened to him, getting the city’s most beloved hero as his mentor is definitely on the top of that list. Mark and Jaemin used to mock Phantasm for his cheesy one-liners and awful suit— which thankfully he has upgraded over the years— and now, he is who Mark goes to when he needs advice. Johnny has been doing this hero thing for much longer than Mark has, and he’s a good listener. 

“How are you?” Mark asks, slipping easily into Korean. Imagine Mark’s surprise when he found out that fucking Phantasm, the pride and joy of the United States, is a Korean man. It eased Mark a lot— giving him something akin to family. 

“I’m doing well, or as well as someone who is stranded in the middle of nowhere is doing,”

A few months ago, Johnny was whisked away by some secret government agency to subdue a threat that he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about. It was all very shady and mysterious–– and the worst part is that Archangel was left to take care of the city. Mark clearly has some big shoes to fill and he’s doing _such_ a good job. 

If Mark thinks being the city's hero is hard, he can’t even imagine what it’s like for Johnny–– having the weight of an entire country on his shoulders. 

“That’s nice,” Mark says, “Make it back alive,” 

“I’ll try,” Johnny replies lightheartedly, “What’s up with you?” 

Mark shrugs, then realises that Johnny can’t see him, “Nothing much, I just wanted to check in,”

He doesn’t even know how to begin to explain the Mage situation to the other hero. It’s too long a story, he’ll tell Johnny over coffee if–– when–– he gets back. 

“It sounds like you’ve been keeping busy,” Johnny says, “I heard the Senator’s dead, and his men are dropping like flies all over the city,”

“You don’t seriously think that’s me, right?” Mark says. 

Johnny says nothing for a while and his silence is deafening. Mark can hear his doubt, how he’s carefully picking out his next words. 

Then, “Of course not, it has Mage written all over it,” 

“But you wondered if it was me,” Mark says, and it isn’t a question, “You think I have it in me,” 

Johnny lets out a noise of frustration, “Everyone has it in them to kill,” 

He laughs bitterly, “But especially me, right?” 

“We’ve talked about this, Mark,” Johnny says gently, “You’re not a killer.” 

A long sigh leaves Mark, he digs his palms into his eyes and wills himself not to cry. He’s getting emotional over _nothing._ The past few days were catching up to him and he feels like he’s drowning. Johnny is on the other side of this phone call, Mage is a few metres away from him and he knows if he called Jaemin right now, he would come running–– yet Mark felt so alone. 

Times like this, he still felt like that angry kid who picked fights at school and dangled his legs off rooftops. Like the kid that Johnny had to save. The kid that Jaemin fell out of love with. 

“Nothing has been going right,” he tells Johnny, a bit desperately, “I feel so out of depth, like nothing I do as Archangel is enough,” 

“We all have those days, Markie,” Johnny replies softly, Mark knows that if he was there, he’d do something comforting like run a hand through his hair or hold his hand, “Just because you’re a hero, it doesn’t mean every problem is yours to fix— have you been taking breaks?”

Mark pauses. A shiver of recognition runs down his spine as Mage’s voice rings in his head. _Do you ever take a break, angel?_

Mark isn’t sure that’s something he knows how to do. 

“It’s impossible to take a break right now,” Mark answers, “I’ve accidentally involved myself in some… drama,” 

This elicits a surprised laugh out of Johnny, “What? This I _need_ to hear about,” 

“Well,” Mark begins, excited to finally get this weight off his chest— to _talk._ “It started when Doyoung Kim broke into STAR labs, actually no it started when I was on a mission to find the Senator––”

A crash echoing from his apartment cuts him off. A sound like the shattering of glass, a window maybe. Mark jumps up in an instant. Then a second crash comes. The sound of something slamming against the wall, accompanied withna groan of pain. 

“Johnny, I have to go,” Mark rushes, shoving the window open. 

“Wait, Mark––”

“I’ll call you later and we can talk, for real,”

A defeated sigh, “Okay, I’m holding you to that. Be safe, Mark Lee.” 

“Bye, hyung.” 

He pockets his phone and slips back in through the kitchen window. 

The sight Mark sees when he enters is truly one to behold. 

Doyoung Kim is standing in the middle of his living room, slamming Mage against the wall harshly. Mark can see how Mage is trying not to wince in pain, considering his injuries, it’s an unfair fight. Mage isn’t relenting though, he only grins at Doyoung and says, 

“Is that the best you can do?” 

Doyoung moves to swing his fist but Mark is quicker, he reaches for one of his knives and sends it flying. It hits Doyoung’s shoulder blade, he hisses in pain and staggers backwards. Giving Mage enough time to get free. He shoots Mark a grateful look, it’s so quick that Mark almost misses it. 

Doyoung recovers fast enough, pulling out Mark’s blade and shooting him a glare. 

“This doesn’t concern you, _Archangel,_ ” the hero’s name dripping from his mouth like poison. Mark wonders just _how many_ villains know his real identity, surely he hasn’t been that careless in concealing it? 

“If it concerns the good of the city, it concerns me,” Mark replies, a second throwing knife clutched in his hand. He feels a sense of deja vu, taking him back to that night at STAR labs. 

Doyoung snorts, “Such a cheesy hero you are. I can assure you this doesn’t concern the city either. It’s strictly a family matter.” 

Mark halts, going entirely rigid at Doyoung’s words. His gaze flies to Mage, who looks just as frozen.

“Family matter?” Mark repeats, the question directed at Mage. 

Mage says nothing, but Doyoung continues.

“Oh? You didn’t know?” he says, sounding absolutely pleased, “Jeno here is my darling little brother,” 

Before Mark could confront Mage about it–– or react in any sort of way, Doyoung lurches for Mage, taking advantage of their momentary distraction. 

“Give me the damn serum, Jeno Kim,” Doyoung grits out. He’s on top of Mage, sending another punch to the boy’s face. Mage’s hands glow purple, and in a split second Doyoung is flying off him. Hitting the opposite wall. 

Mark reacts quickly, surging forward to help Mage up. He reaches his hand out and surprisingly, Mage grabs it, stumbling as he struggles to stand upright. 

_“Jeno Kim?”_ Mark says incredulously, “Why didn’t you tell me that Doyoung is _your_ _fucking brother?”_

Mage shrugs, dusting himself off, “It didn’t seem important,”

Oh, Mark wants to kill him. He really wants to kill him. 

“That was a very important detail to leave out!” Mark yells–– screeches. “You got me involved in your _family drama!_ ” 

Their argument is cut short when Doyoung–– relentless with his attempts of getting the serum–– goes for Mage once more. 

He dodges easily, getting back into the hang of fighting, clearly thrown off from how Doyoung ambushed him earlier. 

“He doesn’t even have the serum,” Mark says. 

Mage gives him a curious look, the purple glow of his hands never fade.

“Then who does?” Doyoung asks. 

Mark pulls the test tube out of his pocket, he never gave it back after snatching it from Mage. 

“I do,” he taunts. And he’s fully prepared for when Doyoung tries to grab it, tossing it to Mage like they’re playing a game of catch. 

Doyoung is about to grab Mage when he tosses it back to Mark, a playful glint in his eye. Mark never thought he’d be on the same wavelength as Mage, but when fighting on the same side, they seem to work well together. 

Doyoung growls, angered by their antics. He reaches for the sword sheathed to his back, and oh–– Mark loves a good sword fight. 

His gear isn’t near him, he keeps it all in the closet in his bedroom. But he hides emergency weapons around his apartment, just in case. 

He makes a run for the couch, where a spare set of dual swords are hidden underneath. He tosses the serum back at Mage just to get Doyoung off his toes. 

He finally gets hold of him, ready to fight Doyoung now that he’s in his element. 

Despite Doyoung’s dramatics–– the monologues and ridiculousness of his evil schemes, all the things that make him seem like a typical comic book villain–– he really is quite dangerous. It shows in the way he fights like he dances. How he’s fighting both Archangel and Mage but barely breaking a sweat. 

Doyoung may be determined, but Archangel and Mage make a hell of a team together. It’s something Mark didn’t see coming. He’s always known that Mage is a good fighter, he’s been on the receiving end of those punches and magical blows. He’s always seen Mage as his equal when it came to battle. But never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that they worked well _together._ Mage matched his every move, they were in sync, fighting like they were one person, tossing the serum between each other and never missing. It was a strange feeling. 

It all goes downhill in the blink of an eye, because Doyoung is as powerful as he is determined. 

At some point between the flashes of purple and crimson spilling from Mark’s nose, the serum falls from his grasp and rolls onto the floor. Doyoung’s eyes glint as he lunges for it–– and so does Mage. 

Doyoung kicks Mage straight in the gut, where his knife wound is, like it’s a target. Jeno lets out a shattering cry of pain, falling to his knees and clutching his stomach. Mark winces, like he can feel the pain himself. 

His instincts kick in and his feet move before his brain can catch up. Mark reaches for the serum and it’s in his grasp once more. Only, Doyoung grabs him, pulling him in a way that’s almost feral. His blade draws a cut on Mark’s palm, forcing him to let go of the test tube. 

“I’m getting tired of this little game of yours,” Doyoung says, “I’ll end it right here.” 

In a swift movement, he brings the test tube into his mouth, biting down on the glass so hard that it breaks. The contents of the serum spilling into his mouth. 

“ _No_ ,” Mage gasps, clutching his stomach as he struggles to stand, “No, no, no,” he lunges for Doyoung and the man grins, lips splitting open like a cheshire cat. Mark is starting to see the family resemblance. 

The entire room fills with black fog, blinding Mark’s view of both Doyoung and Mage. It’s a signature Mage move, to disappear once the fog clears. 

Only this time, when the fog clears, Mage is still there–– kneeled on the ground, staring at the broken shards of the test tube on the floor, bleeding through his shirt. 

And Doyoung is gone. 

“Fuck,” Jeno says, staring hopelessly at the shattered test tube scattered across the wooden floor, _“Fuck,”_

Mark grimaces, swords clattering loudly as he drops them to the floor. He wipes his mouth, hand coming away with blood. He walks towards Jeno, his hands are still glowing purple but they cause no damage. 

“Mage,” Mark says, but the boy doesn’t look up at him. Eyes trained on the shards of glass like they have him under the spell, like he’s trying to put it back together with his mind. 

“Mage,” he says again, but to no avail. 

Mark sighs. He’s tired, he’s covered in blood and he has a million questions. But Jeno looks a million times worse. He’s unlike the Mage that Mark knows–– pale as a ghost and the bloodstain on his shirt is only getting bigger. 

Mark places a hand on his shoulder. 

“Jeno,” he says gently. 

He finally looks up, meeting Mark’s eyes. 

“We failed,” he says quietly, voice rough, “Doyoung took the serum,” 

Mark swallows thickly, “Can you stand?” 

Jeno furrows his eyebrows, as if the question confuses him. 

“What?” 

“Your wound opened up,” Mark says, “Can you stand?” 

Jeno’s inhale is shuddering. Slowly, he brings one knee up, and then the other. He stands on wobbly feet. 

Mark chews on his bottom lip. Jeno is still staring at him with that broken expression, he has no idea what it means.

He tentatively reaches over, linking his hand with Jeno’s. He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it. Maybe they both need a hand to hold right now. 

“Come on,” Mark says, “Let’s get you cleaned up,” 

The silence in the bathroom is unbearably awkward. Jeno sits on the closed toilet seat, the single lightbulb in the dingy bathroom casting shadows on his face. Mark is crouched down in front of him, re-stitching his wound. Jeno is breathing heavily, the needle at his skin must be incredibly painful but he says nothing of it. 

The wound glows purple in the dim lighting, Mark says nothing of it. Wrapping it up with new bandages like nothing is wrong. 

Something heavy and unsteady lingers in the air. 

He’s done cleaning up. Mark moves to pull away but Jeno grabs his hand, fingers circling around his wrist. 

“You’re bleeding too,” he says, breaking the silence. He turns Mark’s hand to reveal the gash from his palm, done by Doyoung’s knife. 

Mark shrugs, “It’s just a tiny cut,” 

“You have one here too,” Jeno says, tracing his own cheekbone to show Mark, he brings his free hand up to touch his cheek and blood drips onto his fingers. It stings slightly, strange, he didn’t even notice. 

“Let’s swap places,” Jeno says, standing from the toilet seat. Mark’s eyebrows pull down in confusion. This isn’t–– _they don’t do this._

He sits and Jeno kneels in front of him, taking the rubbing alcohol out of Mark’s first aid kit. 

His touch is surprisingly gentle as he runs a cotton ball across Mark’s palm. 

“I lied about knowing Dr. Lee,” Jeno says, eyes trained on Mark’s cut, “We’re not friends, everyone at that lab hates me,” 

Mark snorts, it echoes in the tiny bathroom, “I figured as much.” 

“I found out about the serum while hunting for the Senator,” he explains, “He commissioned STAR labs for it, which is why Dr. Lee was on that list–– Doyoung must have found out about it too,” 

“I see,” Mark says, mentally filling in the empty blanks of the story Jeno told him earlier. 

Jeno rips open one of the smaller bandaids, an amused smile plays on his face as he sees the cartoon dogs drawn on it. He uses it to cover the cut on Mark’s hand.

“My parents were scientists,” Jeno continues, sitting higher so he can tend to the cut on Mark’s cheek. He’s unbelievably close. The only time Mark has ever been this close to Jeno was during fights, and there’s usually a sword pressed to Jeno’s throat or hands wrapped around Mark’s neck. This time, he’s nothing but gentle as he cleans the blood off Mark’s face. 

“I got really sick when I was a baby, the doctors said I wouldn’t survive. So my parents created the serum thinking it would heal me. It did, but it also gave me these really fucked up powers.” 

There’s no doubt in Mark that Jeno is lying right now. He’s spilling his secrets–– finally laying out all his truths. Mark has imagined this moment before–– learning Mage’s secrets, finding his weaknesses, how he came to be so powerful. But he never imagined it this way. 

It both thrills him and unnerves him. 

“When we were growing up, Doyoung was always envious of my abilities,” Jeno says, “I guess he found out about the serum and jumped at the chance to have the same powers–– I couldn’t let that happen. So when I stole it, he got angry and sent his men to kill me,” he chuckles bitterly, “Bastard didn’t even bother to do it himself.” 

It all makes sense now. The way Jeno looked so weak, scared, sitting on Jaemin’s couch and insisting that Mark was involved now too. He wasn’t scared because someone tried to kill him, no. That must be a constant occurrence in the villain’s life. He was scared because it was _his brother_ who tried to kill him. 

“You should’ve told me that Doyoung is your brother earlier,” Mark says. 

Jeno places a second bandaid across Mark’s cheek, smoothening it with his thumb. He meets Mark’s eyes. 

“I like being Mage more than I like being Jeno Kim,” and he leaves it at that.

Mark swallows thickly, his hands are clammy and he desperately needs a shower. 

“What do we do now?” 

Jeno pulls back, standing from the bathroom floor and dusting himself off. 

“ _We_ don’t need to do anything,” Jeno says, “I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in the first place.” 

Mark stands up too, and he’s close to Jeno, way too close. He takes a step back. Chest bubbling with warmth. 

“I’m part of this now,” Mark says. He wants to help Jeno. He doesn’t know why but he wants to. 

No, you’re not,” Jeno says, “I can handle this,” 

“Jeno––” 

The bathroom light flickers, once, twice, and then it turns off completely. The room engulfs in darkness. It’s pitch black and Mark can’t see a thing. 

When the light turns back on, Jeno is nowhere to be seen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i need everyone to know that jaemin in this is one of my most favourite characters that I've ever written. 
> 
> I HOPE U LIKED IT! tell me your thoughts i'd love to hear them!!
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/heejinsbian)!
> 
> have a spectacular day MWAH

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, let me know what you think!! as always you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/heejinsbian)


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